


bachelor's degrees in being dumbasses

by sadcelestial



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Teachers, Autumn, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Holidays, M/M, Teacher Eddie Kaspbrak, Teacher Richie Tozier, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24733027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadcelestial/pseuds/sadcelestial
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has been teaching Algebra I to high school freshmen students for five years and is in love with his job. Fortunately, they recently fired a co-worker of his he's never been quite fond of, and a permanent replacement will finally fill in for that spot. Eddie loves his job and now loves it even more knowing he doesn't have to stress about having to see that old, conservative man almost every day.Hey, at least the new guy won't cause some sort of impact in Eddie's life. Right?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

There's always been something so distasteful about the morning smell. Perhaps, the scent brings back nostalgia and it now makes your stomach turn. Or it's not that deep and the mist is just annoying. Either way, Eddie has never been a morning person. Too bad his teaching occupation requires him to drive towards the sunrise, the sun visor only blocking out twenty-five percent of the light. He had to purchase sunglasses, for the sake of his vision—on the plus side, he looks pretty sick, right?

It's his fifth year of teaching, and he's head over heels for his job. He does regret not doing it sooner, though. Eddie Kaspbrak is a 40 year-old man, living like he's hit his 20's. Not in a stereotypical living-young-wild-and-free type of way. It's mostly (entirely) just the "free" part. Personally, he feels like he wasted his time studying for a career path he didn't really enjoy, getting asked too often: "What the fuck is a 'risk analyst'?" At that point, in his mind this whole situation became normalized. It was his life now, and he was going to have to ride or die along with it.

The winter of 2004, Eddie was subclinically depressed. He became quiet, and his co-workers noticed. The few that weren't total dicks worried when he'd come and completely isolate himself with work and leave, declining his co-workers invitations out to an indie like bar, some blocks away, they would hang around in a lot—to the point where it had become their weekly spot. The bar hosted a night of stand-up every Saturday and that was Eddie's favorite.

He developed a routine where he'd turn on the television and absentmindedly watched it. His eyes moved along with the illuminated figures, while his mind retired to a blank and full state of mind, all at once. God, he was so lonely. So, unhappy. His life seemed to be a lost puzzle piece. He's getting older, and coming into realization when he's almost hitting his thirties, made it more difficult to do something about it.

Yes, difficult, but not impossible. He figured that out when he applied to go back to school. He was exhausted of being tired—and his University sent a convincing propaganda card with a slogan that said: It's Never Too Late for Change. The most challenging aspect was actually choosing his next career path. Eddie didn't want to come across a rerun of this portion of his life, so he took his time in knowing himself better. He still worked as a risk analyst, due to carrying himself financially, of course; fortunately, that didn't prevent him from moving forward as he thought it would.

An algebra teacher. Eddie was never the A+ student, but that's mostly because he slacked off during his middle and high school years. In his college years, he set himself straight, learned that he enjoyed the concept of Algebra, and he kicked ass at it. He'd even tutor some other students, admiring the approach in helping other's and seeing the fascination in their faces when they aced an algebra problem. And that's what he studied for.

Ten years later he's teaching a bunch of 9th graders Algebra I and also majored in Fine Arts—recently leading an after school art program. He's so in love with his job, that he keeps one of those stupid teacher mugs the school district had given every other teacher, as well, on his desk. He's happy.

"Jesus– who microwaved Ravioli? It's seven in the morning." Eddie wafts the air away from his face, with his hand, as if that would make the stench vanish. The door of the teacher's lounge gently closes behind him, walking directly towards the mug cabinet without making eye contact with any of the other faculty staff in the room. He already knew who was in the room before him because it's the same people everyday, so it's a reoccurring thing.

He reaches for the cabinet and grabs one of the mugs he got accustomed to. It's the beginning of October and the lounge is already plastered with an Autumn decor—Eddie did lend a hand in decorating the wall by the water cooler and it looks pretty damn nice.

"You, of all people, should know time is a socially constructed perception." Mike pointed a fork with a piece of Ravioli at the end of it, then proceeds to put it in his mouth, eating it. Eddie met Mike on his first day on the job as a teacher. He's been a Librarian at this school for quite a long time, and he's never had second thoughts about it. He seemed fond of it, and that comforted Eddie. Mike was kind enough to show him around and get him settled in. Since then, they've become very good friends, frequently hanging out when they can, out of campus.

"Yeah, but if I would say that I didn't believe in the existence of numbers, I wouldn't have this job." Mike laughs at Eddie's response, as the spoon clinked against the ceramic mug with the stirring of hazel nut creamer.

"Touché," Mike surrenders his argument when the lounge's door opens, and Eddie prays that his coffee will give him enough strength in regards to the person walking in.

"Good morning." Myra greets everyone. Scattered mumbles and replies of various ways of saying 'good morning' fills the room. Eddie's shoulders slowly drop, mumbling a reply himself. Eddie has never liked the thought of hating anyone—old, white rich people is a close exception. It's a waste of his time, and it never brings anything good to the table. But Myra does get on his nerves a fuck ton. He can tell Myra has some sort of interest towards him, but she's never done anything distinctive enough that Eddie has to confront her about it. Her daily gossiping holds a large amount of ingenuity, she almost reminds him of his mother—other than their obvious uncanny appearance similarities. Surprisingly, this morning, she directly approaches another faculty member, leaving Eddie alone.

Eddie grabs his mug, taking a sip from it. Ah, that's better. He sits down next to Mike, who had just finished his Ravioli, having left the abandoned aluminum can on the coffee table that sits two feet across the lounge's couch.

"Hey, appearantly, they found a replacement for Green's classes. Tomorrow's his first day on the job– or, at least, I heard they are a 'he'." Mike tells Eddie, struggling to take out his phone from his back khaki pants' pocket.

"Oh, man. I hope he isn't a total asshole like Green. These kids were lucky enough he got fired just in time their semester began, and to be given another piece of shit would be a real setback." Eddie blows on his coffee, before he takes a sip. Okay, maybe, saying 'hating people is overrated' can be pretty hypocritical at this point; however, Eddie always has an excusable reason and he'll take no criticism.

"But you do miss staring longingly towards the classroom across from yours, to see Green's head reflect the color spectrum." Mike tried his hardest to sound dramatic. His eyes even showed extreme pity. Pretty impressive, but Eddie wasn't going to tell him that, since it'll only encourage him to be more of a little shit. Eddie flips him off, instead, while he takes another short sip from his coffee. Mike continues, though.

"Look, Eddie, I know you're in love with Green," Mike places his phone on his lap, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder, "I get it. We get it. Nothing can be more charming than his ability to eat burnt toast without hesitation. But it's time to let go, buddy." Three seconds pass until Mike can't hold the seriousness much longer. He laughs more when Eddie rolls his eyes and has a slight smirk on his face.

"Dude, if a rumor about me supposedly lusting over Green gets spread, at least I'll know the source."

"You're welcome, man."

The rest of the time is spent going through a teacher shit post tag on Twitter, that Mike found and is currently obsessed with. Eddie threatened to post a photo of Mike holding the can of Ravioli and caption it: 7am ravioli eaters obtain too much power over the teacher's lounge and must be stopped. Mike laughed so hard he actually allowed him to snap a photo of him and post it, before they had to go prepare for the kids to arrive.

"Hey, Eddie?" Mike stops on his tracks, after walking out the teacher's lounge's door.

Eddie stops, as well, turning to look at Mike, "Yeah?"

"Just don't fall in love with the new guy."

Eddie flips him off once again.

🍎

In the middle of stapling Friday's quiz papers, Eddie discovers that he had run out of the stock of staples he's had for a year now. Maybe this was a good thing because now he has a reason to leave campus earlier than he does, and that's what he needs, some fresh air. Staples's fresh air conditioning. Mike would be proud to hear that, since he's always telling Eddie that he needs to stop staying in his classroom until the evening, unless it was necessary, even though you love your job, to find more hobbies and to learn to love other things. Mike would gladly be Eddie's cheerleader as Eddie stepped foot inside a Staples, no doubt. Can visiting Staples three times a month be considered a hobby?

Moving from New York to Chicago was a big step for him. There's a lack of communication with his old co-workers he was actually cool with. But it never bothered Eddie after receiving this job. The step was terrifying, really, with the process of meeting new people and leaving old ones behind. An ache forms in Eddie's chest pondering the memories and how they end up as echoes. A thought that helps is knowing he's found the missing puzzle piece, and all he has left do is to complete it. That won't happen now, but it'll happen eventually. He could feel it.

The sun's setting, making the sky easy on the eyes with a pastel gradient when Eddie gets inside his vehicle. He turns it on and just sits there for moment, taking in the blast of cooling air conditioning. His shoulders fall, but not in an unhappy way.

Possibly, the reason it's difficult to leave the school is because he knows it's times like these that make him feel the loneliest. Eddie knows he's seen as that lonely guy. People left and right try to hook him up with someone or set him up for blind dates—leaving Eddie having to sometimes reply with "Sorry, I'm a HUGE homosexual, but thank you." And, honestly, it's pretty fucking exhausting. He'd never really been one to mind time for himself; until, it currently hit him when he had cooked some killer lemon chicken skillet for two, with no one else in the apartment to compliment it. Plus, it never occurred to him that he was lonely, since he sometimes hooks up with guys. And by sometimes it's a range from zero to twice a year. None of them had ever stayed till the next day. Sucks for them because Eddie makes a mean smiley face breakfast.

Eddie is 40 year's old and, damn it, does he want to be taken on a picnic date like how all the straight, white people do.

Eddie sighs, pressing play on his Bluetooth system. "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers plays from where it was last left off.

🍎

Staples is apocalyptical as always. Florescents are calmer here, something Eddie is always internally grateful for. Eddie could stay in this store for hours and fill a whole basket with stacks of whatever the fuck he'll find intriguing. His teacher ID won't excuse his Staples shopaholic tendencies in buying a shitload of post-it notes just because they all looked nice. The plan today is to walk in, grab the staples needed, and jet. Simple.

He knows exactly where everything's at, and the staples are always in the fourth aisle—see, if Eddie owned Staples he'd place the staples in the first aisle because that makes more sense. Eighties music, Eddie's keys fidgeting in his hand, and his shoes contacting the gray carpet is the only noise that radiates throughout the store. He reaches the fourth aisle and grabs an armful of boxes of staples—a basket would've just encouraged Eddie's shopaholic tendencies.

"Okay," Eddie says under his breath before he made his way out of the aisle.

One foot out of the aisle and he collapses on his ass. Someone accidentally bumped into him, but all he could focus on are all the boxes spread across his legs and the carpeted floor. With his keys still in his grip, Eddie's first instinct is to gather the boxes and opens his mouth to apologize, but is cutoff by the other person's voice.

"Woah, buddy, take me out to brunch first."

For some reason, that ticks Eddie off. He understood that it was a joke, but the guy's tone got him fuming and Eddie didn't understand that part. Sure, sometimes Eddie can get frustrated too easily about small circumstances, he knows that. Wrong order of coffee, a pen not working, or walking out into humid weather, but Eddie could control himself over when and where not to lose it. At this point, Eddie could care less about figuring out why. The only thing that enters through his head is: what's this guy's problem?

"Oh, blow me, asshole," Eddie doesn't look at the guy, not stopping in collecting his items. The guy snorts prior to silence falling between them and the eighties music intervenes louder for a couple seconds. Actually, the volume of the music hadn't increased, the silence did. Eddie props himself on his knees. Honestly, he expected this guy to keep going, blabbing out more shit to piss him off; however, before he knew it, he was on the ground helping Eddie gather up the boxes.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean to upset you." The guy's voice sounds sincere. Eddie finally exchanges eye contact with him. Glasses frame his blue eyes and sit nicely on his elegant nose. Messy dark curls, one hangs unintentionally over his forehead, but it's suitable on him. A black trenchcoat shapes his broad shoulders handsomely.

_Dude, don't fall for the guy that accidentally knocked you on your ass, the irony and symbolism of it would be embarrassing._

Eddie can't fall for this guy, anyways, he's mad at him. Wait, God, is he? He did apologize and it sounded sincere. Now the guy is smiling at Eddie.

"Here," he gets up off his knees, holding the remaining boxes of staples with one arm, and holds out his hand for Eddie to grab onto. Eddie's pulled off the ground, grasping onto the other portion of boxes. His hand is soft. This guy's Eddie's archnemesis.

"Thanks." Eddie mumbles, releases his hand, and begins to reach for the other staples from the guy's arm before he's stopped.

"Dude, if I let you carry all of these, I'll be sending you to your fucking deathtrap. Again." The guy talks to Eddie as if they're childhood friends.

Eddie's eyebrows furrow—more than usual—and looks at the guy with the bit of patience he has left. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The guy's lips slowly stretch into a smile as he talks, "You know, 'cause you're tiny. You're basically the life-size version of a Funko Pop."

A Bryan Adams song softly plays through the store's intercom system. Eddie's going to murder this man and the last thing he's going hear is Bryan Adam's voice—that's more of pro, to be quite honest. This was supposed to be a quick trip. By now, Eddie could've been changed into his pajamas, watching some random Youtube videos he spiralled into, and eating last night's leftovers of Fettuccine Alfredo. Instead, he's standing around in a Staples holding himself back from commit a crime.

"Fuck you," Eddie points his index finger at the guy's face. "Is this some kind of prank television show where you play an asshole with hidden cameras, or are you just an asshole by nature?"

The guy laughs quietly.

"Oh, this is fucking funny to you," Eddie questions, his eyes squinting.

"Dude, you're like my favorite person and I don't even know who the fuck you are."

That brings Eddie into a halt. The creases on Eddie's face relax. Is this guy, okay? How's he so nonchalant? He should have ran away already, leaving him alone, leaving him to deal with these boxes full of staples by himself. Eddie's being an asshole back, he knows he is, and all this guy does is find endearment from it.

Eddie opens his mouth, not having planned what he's going to spew out next, but is interrupted by the guy, who turns on his feet and starts walking away. Around ten feet away, that's when he turns his head enough, still walking, to look at Eddie and yells, "C'mon!"

Eddie's feet hesitated to follow for a second. Before he knew it, they have reached the register. The guy dumps the items he was handling on the conveyor belt. Eddie does the equivalent after a beat.

Having been teaching for almost five years, the first ninth grade class he taught already graduated high school. One of his students, Charlie, has been working part-time shifts at this Staples, and it's always a delight to catch up with them. They've been attending the local community college. Charlie stresses out a lot about having their future remaining as a blank canvas. Eddie makes sure to comfort them, telling Charlie to not worry and that they've got plenty of time. Even if they were to choose a career they end up unhappy with, to leave it no matter if time appears to be running out. "Hey, kid, promise me you will do that. Don't get wrinkles at a young age like me. I could've been modeling for Gucci part-time," Eddie would say to make the situation more light-hearted. (Eddie's addition to his hate list: those teachers/people who ask, "what do you see yourself doing in the future?" Literally, fuck off.)

"Hey, Charlie, how's school going," Eddie asks, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. Charlie scans his items.

"Good," they smile, "Chemistry is kicking my ass, though."

From his peripheral vision, he can see the guy looking at him. He ignores him, and keeps interacting with Charlie, "Yeah, Chemistry kind of sucks. Have you gotten someone to tutor you? You don't want to have to take it again."

All of Eddie's restraining fails him when he ends up looking at the guy, quickly, awkwardly glancing at him. The guy's smiling softly.

"Tomorrow's my first day of tutoring," Charlie responds, scanning the last items.

"Charlie, is this small man bothering you? Do you need me to hex him?" The guy gestures towards Eddie with his thumb. Charlie chuckles, placing the remaining boxes in a bag. Eddie rolls his eyes, ready to make a remark, but Charlie intervenes, "Oh! Dad told me if you came around to inform you that he got a new bird, and he wants you to name him."

The guy makes a shocked expression, "Wait. You're saying Stan wants me to choose his bird's name?" Charlie nods. "Holy shit. There has to be a catch."

This guy knows Charlie and their father? He remembers meeting their parents, Stan and Patty Uris, at an open house. They seemed like lovely people, accepting and supporting Charlie for who they identify as. Eddie barely knows this guy and Stan; either way, compared to each other, he can tell they've got very diverse personalities.

"Dad will be picking the one he likes," Charlie confirms, inputting something on the register's keyboard. The guy groans, unsatisfied. His shoulders slightly slump, now lacking excitement.

"I'll text him. Probably drop by later this weekend."

"Cool! And that'll be $66.89," Charlie says, about to reach for Eddie's card who's handing it to them.

"Wait," the guy abruptly speaks. Eddie's and Charlie's eyes land on him, seeing him rustle through one of his trenchcoat pockets, pulling out his wallet. A second is what it takes for Eddie to process what he was doing. Less than a second it took for his first instinct, to lean towards him and slap the debit card out of the guy's hand, to kick in. The attention was back on Eddie.

"No, no, no," Eddie chuckles without humor, "I'm not letting you pay for my shit."

"It's compensation, man," the guy squats down to grab his card. Standing back up, he looks at Eddie again, "You know, for almost killing you and risking sending Charlie to clean you up in aisle four."

Eddie rolls his eyes, keeping his stare up at the corner of the ceiling. Guilt always showers over Eddie when others pay for him, no matter the situation. Studying to become a risk analyst, he struggled maintaining an apartment with minimum wage jobs. Feeling relief, moving away from his mother, is what kept Eddie go through the tough obstacles that were thrown his way. Rationalizing food more strictly to be able to have enough for rent brought more sanity to his mind than the thought of moving back with his mother. Once, a college friend helped him pay his rent after she saw Eddie panicking about an eviction notice, on the brink of tears. It's a bad feeling, not being able to independently maintain yourself. He paid her back, of course, even if she declined it.

Money's always been a topic Eddie hates discussing—ironic according to his earlier career days. Hypocrisy does take a part in Eddie's logic, helping others who need it and not wanting anything in return. Deep down he knows, if this situation was reversed, this guy wasn't purposely annoying Eddie, he'd be doing the same. Out of compensation, or whatever.

"Please..." the guy says childlike, interlocking his fingers and pressing his palms together, "Oh, pretty, please! I'll add this into the mix: if you let me do this, you'll never have to see me, ever again, for the rest of your life."

Eddie sighs, looking back at him, "I wasn't planning to, anyways. And fine."

"Ouch. But, yay!"

Charlie grabs the guy's card out of his hand, completing the transaction. He takes his card back and places it in his wallet, before picking up the bags.

"See ya, guys. Drive safe," Charlie waves goodbye.

"Au revoir, kid," the guy says in unison with Eddie's, "Have a good night, Charlie."

The parking lot is empty—who would've guessed? A light post perfectly illuminates Eddie's vehicle. It doesn't come across his head as strange that the guy accompanies him to his car, until they reach it. There's a rough moment of silence when Eddie turns his body to look at him in the eyes. The guy hands him the bags and Eddie grabs them from him, thanking him.

"I don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves," the guy shoves his hands into his trenchcoat pockets in 70 degree Fahrenheit weather. There wasn't any wind to take away the timidness of his voice with it. Eddie was almost gonna give in and say his name, but he remembered what was said earlier.

"There's no need for that after our agreement to never see each other again."

"Oh, shit, yeah. I forgot," The guy squints, in a way of recalling, and tip toes but falls back on his heels after a second, "Guess this is our farewell, microscopic man."

Eddie rolls his eyes, "Farewell, guy."

"Did you just call me 'guy'?

"It's just– I've been calling you 'guy' in my head–"

"Like Guy Fieri? Dude, that's way worse."

"How is that way worse than 'microscopic man'?"

"It just is! He's a dirty man."

Laughter reverbs throughout the parking lot. Plastic bags crinkle along Eddie's thigh to his ankle when he positions himself in a hunch manner, laughing. The action was sudden, Eddie couldn't help it. That was fucking funny.

Eddie looks at the guy, straightening himself. He was done laughing, but the pull on his lips and glint in Eddie's eyes stay. Lost suits the guy's blue eyes as he searches Eddie's face for something—Eddie wasn't quite sure either—while his lips slightly depart into a smile.

Nothing about this made any sense. Why is he kind of bummed now that he's never going to see this guy ever again? Some minutes ago, Eddie claimed him as his archnemesis; now, they're smiling at each other in a familiar way. Obviously there's a clear solution to this: give the guy some sort of form of contact information. His phone number, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Myspace- whatever! Not a start of a romance, Eddie didn't want to think about that for his own sake. To platonically hang with this guy sounds, surprisingly, nice. Was Eddie going to do it?

"Well, goodbye." Eddie props his hand out, gesturing to shake.

"Oh, uh- yeah. Goodbye."

Of course, not.

🍎

Scrambled eggs is all Eddie stirs up this morning. Some toast would've appetized him if it weren't for running late, with no spare time to throw the burnt ones and pop some new bread in the toaster.

Lacking sleep happens constantly, but it's never something Eddie could get used to. Shamefully, the reason behind it never's anything "exciting". Nothing to brag about when your co-workers point out the bags under your eyes. The usual grading papers or planning out the next lesson that gets a nod and the sip of coffee as a response. Except, this time was slightly different.

Stapling the last quizzes was completed after he microwaved and ate his leftovers. At one point, he sighed, staring at a piece of fettuccine collapsed on his carpeted floor—a new YouTube video auto played. Carpet floors are the worst. So much work to maintain them. All of it pointless because no matter how much you clean it, dirt will be always there to cling onto it. For the first time, Eddie's legs didn't ache to get up and quickly grab the supplies to clean it up. No mother around to cause his posture to tense and his ears to rush with blood. His name said, coated with the harshness of a high pitch sound wasn't going to make the walls shake because she wasn't here to tell him to pick it up. Instead, he went on Twitter.

@eddiek tweeted: oh to be a piece of fettuccine on a carpeted floor

His thumb floated above the screen, staring at his tweet load at the top. Eddie's thumb slowly moved up to the search bar, but immediately froze. Oh, yeah. There's no name to type because none were exchanged. Eddie's upset at himself, biting the inside of his cheek. Different lighting flashes from the television aim on his drained face expression, and the illumination from his phone died when he locked his phone. He unlocks his phone a second later, deciding to text Mike.

**9:24 PM**  
mike not ike

eddie: i took your advice about leaving the school early

mike not ike: Ayyyee! I'm proud of you man!!

eddie: and i almost died at staples

mike not ike: WHAT

eddie: this guy bumped into me and i fell on my ass

eddie: and he was an asshole

mike not ike: Oh god that sucks

eddie: and he paid for my stuff

mike not ike: ......I thought you said he was an asshole?

eddie: yes but tolerable

mike not ike: Wait you never let me pay for you? What makes this random guy special

eddie: he begged me and told me if i'd let him we'd never have to see each other ever again and i said okay even though that's not the reason i agreed. i thought if i was in his shoes i'd do the same so that would be hypocritical from me if i said no.

mike not ike: So what? Was the deal set and done?

eddie: well, yeah i mean he suggested it and i went along with it. it's a win-win

mike not ike: I still can't believe he paid for your stuff. All of it's pretty romcom. Aw too bad you're not marrying him :(

eddie: mike. he literally almost KILLED me ! how is that romantic?????

mike not ike: Fine I'll marry him

eddie: if he kills you just know i'm putting "i told you so" on your tombstone

  
Feeling cool sheets layer on his bare skin is something Eddie always finds cherishable. White noise being produced by the ceiling fan plays a leading factor. It's hard to focus on those parts in trying fall asleep when that six foot and some inches guy from Staples doesn't leave his head. He's as annoying in his mind as he was in real life.

That's what kept bothering Eddie the most.

Dude, this guy was on the verge of giving him a migraine. All they mostly did was verbally torture each other, the only difference being the other guy found the whole thing amusing.

By the time he knew it, the sheets absorbed his body heat. Uncomfortable limbs peeked from under the covers and his bed head was going to be an utter nightmare to gel down. The more he rolled around, trying to get Staples Guy out his mind, the more unrealistic sleep sounded.

  
 **3:07 AM**  
mike not ike

eddie: ughhhhhh i can't sleep

eddie: kinda wish that guy would've murdered me instead

  
Two hours is all Eddie got. Well, two hours and a frustrating mess of bed head, as he correctly predicted. Thirty minutes from those hours were dozing off on the snooze button. Today's going to be a trip, Eddie can sense it. Who knows, if he dies today, someone can make a prequel to "The Monkey's Paw" where Eddie's bad luck is the monkey's paw origin story. At least he would be immortalized.

Fortunately, Eddie is on time. None to spare to hang in the teacher's lounge, his students are waiting outside his classroom.

"Sorry. Sorry, guys," Eddie's keys jingle around his hands, finding the right one. He unlocks it and keeps the door open for his students to enter. One of them turns the lights on while he quickly greets his students by the door. Before entering, he positions the door stopper. He decides on no bell ringer today—ignoring that the tardy bell hasn't rung yet.

Chatter is spread throughout the room. Eddie places his phone on his desk, lighting up when his fingers touch the screen. Mike's messages flood his lockscreen. He heard his phone chime, but he didn't pay any attention to it until now.

  
**5 New Messages**

mike not ike: Hey man are you good?

mike not ike: Do you need me to bring you some soup or something during lunch?

mike not ike: Myra asked me if I knew where you were. Don't come in today.

mike not ike: Oh wow Green's replacement is almost as tall as me. There's new competition.

mike not ike: Are we going to have to find you a new replacement, too?

Eddie huffs out a short laugh, nodding his head, and locks his phone. That reminds him, it's Wednesday. He totally forgot about Green's replacement finally joining them. Green sucked and Eddie's fucking delighted he was fired. All anybody gossipped about was Green, and Eddie was the one stuck across the hall from him. Harsh comments and his unsettling voice were always heard when Eddie's door was left open. Green wouldn't yell—that might send him to his deathbed—but he was very old and very much conservative.

A roar of laughter echoes from the other side of the hall. Curiosity drives Eddie to look over. Laughter's a good sign, right? It means Green's replacement has to have some sort of redeeming quality. Chattering is also coming from that classroom which is also new. Green must've treated the students as prisoners, and substitutes always had the word "miserable" written across their face. This new guy's good. To be able to mentally ease them so quickly, he has to be.

No one that appeared like a teacher was in frame. The desks were rearranged differently, meaning the only thing in sight from Eddie's view were a couple students' desks. The walls still remain blank. And Eddie predicts that the teacher's desk must be deep within the classroom because he hasn't seen Green's replacement ye– holy shit. Holy. Shit.

Curiosity killed the cat, and Eddie's the cat and he's dead now. He's certain for a second there he died, and met Susie Salmon in the in-between. There's no way the tall guy writing on the dry erase board, grinning stupidly, is Staples Guy. Absolutely not. Fuck, this is a nightmare, and the two hours are just feeling really long? Why is he freaking out? He was bummed about never seeing that guy again, and now that he's several feet away from him the next day, he's freaking out?

Staples Guy presses the cap back on the marker. Anyone with instincts would look out their door and to the other room if, from your peripheral vision, a figure is just standing by their desk and facing your direction.

And that's exactly what Staples Guy does.  
He freezes with widen eyes, the blue is visible from this distance. Neither of them know how to respond. Annoyingly, Staples Guy is better at snapping out of the trance quicker, smiling so wide and pointing towards Eddie with the red marker.

"No way," Staples Guy chuckles loud enough for it to reach Eddie's ears from across the hall, "Microscopic man!?"

Eddie wouldn't have given a shit if this happened anywhere else– actually, he would've but not enough to feel his cheeks start to burn up when hearing Staples Guys' students quiet down and heads turn his direction. Horror films isn't a genre Eddie finds enjoyment in, so he rarely watches them. But he knows the basic set-up for them and he's convinced he's starring in one right now. The sequel.

It progressively gets worse when Staples Guy accidentally bumps into a desk behind him. That's when he breaks the eye contact, turning to regain balance by holding on to the desk. Then he awkwardly waves at Eddie while he blindly repositions the desk back to its place.

Eddie holds back his eye roll as he is saved by the bell. Thank fucking God. He never waves back at Staples Guy, but while approaching his door, Eddie gives him a shy smile. Before closing it, he sees him standing there with a kind smile, repeatedly clicking the marker cap open and shut.

Windows on classroom doors are a curse. Eddie discovers that by the end of his first period.

🍎

Two Livesaver mints and three hard caramel candies is what's on Eddie's lunch menu today. The school's chicken nuggets almost made him throw up all over Mike's Ralph Lauren dress slippers—from a Black Friday sale he claims—so that's out of the question. Being late to work fucks with Eddie's head for the rest of his day, feeling out of place. Not that it's a constant thing, this is his third time being late. The first two had to do with his vehicle—dead battery and taillight going out—which is a far more reasonable excuse than sleeping through your damn alarm.

A mix of relief and disappointment sparks in Eddie's head after seeing Staples Guy's classroom pitch black. Green had the same lunch break time as Eddie, so he suspects his schedule is the same according to the lack of schedule changes there's been. Staples Guy could be anywhere during his break, but Eddie hopes he didn't run off to a McDonald's drive-thru, deciding to eat a 10-piece Chicken Mcnuggets Combo in his parked car to isolate himself. He dislikes not at least trying to befriend a co-worker. Back at his old job, besides the three people he let himself become close with, his own desk was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Mid-20's Eddie would look at you as if you were part of a freak show to even consider wanting to socialize to newbies.

Eddie would call himself a prick, but knowing that everyone else were the pricks got him giving his past self a thumbs up for being aware for once. He feels very fortunate everyone's so nice here. So, keeping with the tradition of welcoming others, there will be no hesitation in barging into Staples Guy's passenger seat, if that's the case.

Eddie's caught by surprise when entering the teacher's lounge.

"Oh, hey, Eddie!" Mike whispers loudly that if he'd used his normal voice it wouldn't have been as loud. Sat next to Mike on one of the lounge's circular tables, Staples Guy follows Mike's sight, eyes trail up to Eddie's face with the sound of a soda can being cracked open. Staples Guy is holding a freshly opened grape Fanta, teeth slowly become visible as he begins to grin widely.

"Have you met Green's replacement?" Mike stops whispering, pointing at Staples Guy. Eddie keeps darting his eyes towards both of them and back to the blue specked floor tiles, heading closer to the table.

When Eddie takes a seat next to Mike, Staples Guy fills in the space where Eddie's reply belonged, but he's kind fo grateful he did because Eddie didn't know what to say anyways, "Green's replacement? Is that what everyone's been calling me? Now I know how straight women feel when they're described as 'so-and-so's wife'."

Both of his large hands are lightly cupping the Fanta can. Eddie notices no ring—Staples Guy can have a girlfriend—but it doesn't stop Eddie from saying, "Especially, your wife."

Eddie rethinks his choices when Staples Guy turns his head to look at Eddie in the eyes and his smile disappears. Aw, fuck. Making this guy upset, or doing whatever that would wipe that stupid grin off his face, is something Eddie had thought about after the few hours he's known he existed. Now that that was, unintentionally, quickly accomplished, Eddie feels like he's stepped on a puppy's tail and all he wants to do is apologize a million times. Hurting Staples Guy's feelings is gut wrenching. Even Mike is confusedly staring at Eddie, for Christ's sake! Eddie just can't control his filter around this guy, and he doesn't know why.

"Hey," Staples Guy says in a sturdy tone, his eyebrows are furrowed while looking at Eddie, "Your mother and I are very happy together, and you need to respect her decisions, okay?"

The tension that emitted from Mike dies, cackling so loud the whole school can probably hear it. He'll definitely be put on a Guinness World Record book as the 'Loudest Librarian' one day—Yearbook will be hearing about this category soon.

Just when he was growing sympathetic towards Staples Guy, he finds a way to give Eddie more wrinkles on his face. Don't get him wrong, Eddie's relieved he didn't actually hurt Staples Guy's feelings. Actually, he's very fond of the way Staples Guy was permissive about the situation. Not everyone is, so it's nice finding someone else to be loose around. But expressing that will only give the guy a bigger ego that will allow him to survive on it. Internalizing will have to do.

"Are you fucking serious? That's so not funny," Eddie says during Staples Guy's first sip of his soda. Mid dip he nods with wide eyes and before setting the can back on the table he let's out a loud "ahh".

"It is funny."

"No, it's not, you don't even know my mom."

"You mean, my wife?"

"Fuck you, man."

Staples Guy gasps, and puts on an over exaggerated British accent, "How dare you! Arson is a sin!"

For sure people around them had to be eyeing them. Eddie and Mike are always loud, they know it, and now add the new guy into the mix. Yeah, all eyes. Myra is most likely mumbling to someone else about them. Maybe not. Maybe Eddie's being paranoid. Eddie can't seem to care any longer about the others around. He's too involved mocking this guy.

"It's adultery, dipshit. Aren't you an English teacher?"

They're cut off by Mike from continuing their bickering, "Do you guys know each other?" Mike speaks with his mouth full of Caesar salad, using his fork to gesture between both of them.

Staples Guy smiles, "Kind of. I almost sent him to heaven's– sorry, hell's gate after bumping into him at a Staples, yesterday."

Oh, God. Eddie totally forgot he texted Mike about that. Mike's going to tell him about their conversation and the guy's going to go absolutely insane. What's worse is Eddie's wearing a light yellow button-up, and if Mike brings it up he's worried his sweat will saturate the yellow.

But all Mike does is glances at Eddie once and continues with a chuckle, "What, really? That's crazy, man."

Eddie's an asshole for assuming Mike would say anything. Mike's the literal best.

"Yeah. And we never got each other's names. Long story short, we had a deal we'd never see each other again so there was no need to. But thanks to Mike—thank you, Mike," Staples Guy looks at Mike before turning to Eddie, "I know you're the famous Eddie he's been talking about. Eddie Spaghetti– is your last name Spaghetti? That would be awesome, dude."

"Jesus– don't call me that again. And It's Kaspbrak. Eddie Kaspbrak." Eddie couldn't help it but to actually sound genuine while introducing himself. Yesterday he wanted to tell his name to this stranger more than anything. Make a new friend. He was delivered with a second chance, today. He owes it to him. He owes it to himself. It felt the closest to a reset button. He's tired of calling him Staples Guy.

"I like that. Microscopic Man was getting me tongue tied. I'm Richi–" he cuts himself off to extend his arm across the table, welcoming a hand shake from Eddie. Eddie obliged.

"Richie Tozier. Some may pronounce it as 'Tall Sensitive Man Please Shut The Fuck Up' but nicknames have never bothered me." It makes Eddie let out a soft chuckle.

"So, Richie," Mike starts and they stop shaking hands, "How's your day been going? The kids treating you well?"

Staples Gu– Richie opens a Ziploc bag Eddie hadn't noticed then, placed on the table next to the Fanta can, "Oh, yeah, it's been great, man. I'm so glad to be here. I've been making the kids draw Shakespeare as weird as possible, and the results have me dying," he picks up a half of the sandwich he takes out the Ziploc bag, "I mean, I've been having a blast, so far, and yeah, I hope they are, too."  
Richie bites into his sandwich, smiling as he chews. Eddie feels his stomach rumble, reminding him of the candies he has in his pocket.

"Shakespeare would shit his pants if he entered your classroom and saw what your kids were up to," Eddie says, opening the wrapper to the hard caramel candy.

"Uh, yeah, because he'd be fucking stoked! Their art is beyond abstract you'll want them on a t-shirt. I'm telling you, these Gen Z kids are hippies." Richie jokes, but at the same time it sounds truthful like he has a point to prove.

Eddie eats the candy pretty fast—could it be due to the fact he hasn't eaten all day? Before he knows it, he's digging in his pocket and locates another one.

Caramel candy is Eddie's favorite candy, and he knows it shouldn't be. It's literally heated sugar, you can imagine your teeth having the worst time of their lives when eating one. But that's why he loves it.

His mother never let him eat caramel, nor any sweets close to it. Ridiculously enough, sneakily eating it felt as if he'd been consuming a drug. The risk of it all ironically injected him an adrenaline boost. That was with anything and everything his mother forbid. Being out of the grasp from his mother now, he pops a caramel candy into his mouth and receives the normal human satisfactory. Not that he misses what he used to feel, nostalgia isn't something Eddie quite enjoys.

Eddie loves the sweet taste of caramel, but if he's going to be completely honest, eating the candy out of spite really adds to the flavoring. 'Normal human satisfactory' may be a lie; however, it's in fact more normal than the kick he'd get as a kid.

"Hippies and comedians," Eddie adds and bites down on the candy, creating a loud crunching sound.

"Yeah, and you won't be able to see any of their Netflix comedy specials if you die from starvation. Did you forget to bring lunch? We could've gone to go get takeout," Mike's tone drips with concern. He notices after Eddie takes the last caramel candy out of his pocket. Getting takeout for himself hadn't crossed his mind, but that doesn't matter it was too late now.

Eddie freezes, big brown eyes caught staring at Mike's face while the candy is pinched in-between his thumb and index finger. He chews the last pieces of caramel that were stuck on his molars and furrows his eyebrows with a tug on his lips, shrugging, "Mike, it's not a big deal, I still have two Livesaver mints left."

His eyes leave Mike when the sound of Richie choking on his soda engulfs the room, his loud laughter follows.

Mike points his thumb over at Richie, who's calming down from laughing, with his head turned to Eddie to tell him, "That's visual proof that your reasoning sucked."

Red flush across Richie's cheeks had already seeped back to a pale peach as he straightened his posture. "Just– here," Richie smoothly slides the ziploc bag across the table to where Eddie is sat.

Thoughts formed into a tumbleweed. A half of a sandwich inside the Ziploc bag, with black marker sloppily spelling out "RICHIE T. :)" on the white space intended as a label, sits in front of Eddie. From a closer perspective, golden is the color of the bread with a crispy texture. Grilled cheese sandwich? Turkey ham? Studying the sandwich was just an attempt at stalling from actually processing this random act of kindness. Really, who the fuck is this asshole of an angel sent to overwhelm Eddie in the past hours? Anyways, abstaining is key.

"No way, man–" Eddie was already attempting to push it back across the table, but Richie cuts him off.

"No, please have it, it's fine. I had a big breakfast, anyways." Richie playfully pats his stomach with his unoccupied hand. The silence accompanies the eye contact they hold before Eddie asks, "You sure?"

"More than I've ever been." Richie replies, tossing the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. He brushes his hands together to clean off the crumbs and smiles, his eye crinkles appear from under his glasses.

Eddie's still, outstretched arm across the center of the table regains an arc after nodding and saying "okay" under his breath, sliding the Ziploc back in front of himself.  
Questioning what the taste outcome of this was going to be never occurred, so Eddie is very surprised and relieved when taking the first bite—a turkey ham grilled cheese sandwich Eddie was fucking right. Obviously it doesn't taste fresh and the bread wasn't as crispy, most likely because it was inserted into the bag while warm. But, man– it deserved cherishing and visible appreciation.

"Holy shit." Eddie mumbles with his mouth full. He looks at Richie with wide eyes, "What did you put in this?"

"Kraft singles, baby!" Richie raises his Fanta can before taking a swig.

"Oh, God, really?"

"Nah, I'm joking, but you should've seen your face." Richie laughs at Eddie.

"Out of the little time I've known you for, I suspected you were, but you're also full of surprises, so..." Eddie takes another bite. His starvation probably fucks with his taste buds, treating everything he puts in his mouth as if a professional chef has cooked it up. But he can tell that isn't the case with this sandwich. It's actually really good.

"I used to eat Kraft singles on its own." Richie spits out like it was a normal thing people say.

"My point proven." Eddie leans back on his chair, and Mike laughs.

"Hey, at least, he said it in a past tense form." Mike says, earning himself a yeah-I-guess-you're-right shrug out of Eddie.

Whatever amount of minutes were left contained all three of them exchanging phone numbers and social media usernames—Mike insisted. Mike introduced Richie to the teachers' shit post hashtag, confidently showing himself off from Eddie's ravioli tweet. Appearantly, Richie found the tweet so hilarious, Eddie received a like and retweet notification from user @trashmouth.

"Mike, I might have just met you today, but I'm fucking certain you're more powerful than any god." Richie makes Mike laugh with a hand on his chest.

Walking back to their rooms there was no conversing. In about a minute or so, the bell was going to ring, leaving the hallways lonely for now. Eddie didn't want this to be awkward like those wannabe indie films. You know, standing in the middle of the hallway not knowing how to say goodbye stupid cliché. Lucky for him, Richie feeds off awkwardness, and his brain manages to somehow come up with something to say every time.

"Oh, hey, I forgot. Close your eyes."

"Wait, why?" Eddie asks.

"Trust me." There's a smile on Richie's face and his hands are hidden behind his back. Examining his arms trailing behind his back, Eddie barely becomes aware of Richie's outfit. Black's taking up most of the clothing, a black button-down looks formally ironed out and tucked into his fitted suit pants accented with gray grid print. Black Chelsea boots and a belt tie the outfit together. The one piece Eddie is certainly mesmerized with is Richie's unique space tie, the planets presenting a pop of color. Very suitable and modern. It's nice.

"You're going to get the job done, aren't you?" Eddie closes his eyes.

"If I wanted to kill you, Staples's lovely gray carpet would've already been upgraded with the limited edition tape design of your outlined corpse." Richie responds while there's a shuffling, crinkle sound coming from behind him.

Eddie tries to attempt a death stare but his eyes are closed.

"Okay, open them!" Richie exclaims. Eddie does. Richie's hands are still behind his back. "Now, pick left or right. If the item is in the correct hand, you win the prize!" Richie announces like a host from one of those game shows.

"Left." Eddie says instantly with no thought. Eddie laughs when there's a pause of silence and hears the item crinkle as Richie obviously moves it from his right to left hand, behind his back.

"You got it right!" Richie reveals the item, holding it out in front of Eddie.

A granola bar.

"Here, come on, I don't want you passing out in front of your kids," Richie hands it to Eddie and he slowly grabs it.

"Thank you." Eddie replies quietly. Eddie would've declined the offer, but what was the point if he knew Richie wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Time traveling too fast and his mind trying to catch up to all of it also caused him to forget to approach his usual instinct.

Every one of his co-workers are very generous. He can admit Myra is as well, even if sometimes she's just a bit too much, but she isn't mean. Mike's his closest friend and they all help each other with whatever they need. This isn't the first time a co-worker shares or gives something to Eddie, so what makes this occurrence different? Could be the way they met. It was rocky, that's for sure. Eddie's as bad as Richie when it comes down to foul language and spitting out stupid stuff that sometimes rubs people the wrong way. Catching glimpses of Richie's timid and sweet side hasn't accustomed in Eddie's head that this asshole is capable of having that within him. He's keen on it.

"Plus, you never know, maybe this will make you grow taller."

And with that Eddie turns on his heels and walks towards his classroom, "Goodbye, Richie."

Richie's still standing at the same place, his voice grows louder as it approaches its end, "If that doesn't work, there's always high heels!"

Eddie flips him off without turning back around, continuing walking inside his classroom. Richie's contagious laugh has Eddie smiling to himself. Richie's footsteps became quieter once he reached his own room. Eddie embarks in preparing the papers for next period.

Shit. They stood in the middle of the hallway.

The bell rings.

🍎

A light, double-tap knock alarms Eddie—an almost empty school can be pretty creepy. Afternoon was closer to the evening when Richie decided to approach Eddie's classroom door, keeping himself politely positioned by the entrance. There's a satchel hanging from his left shoulder, crossing over his chest, ending by his right hip. The tips of his fingers' salmon hue lighten as he grips the strap.

Thursday afternoons are the only time Eddie has a proper excuse to stay during later hours within the campus, as he leads an after school art club from 4:00 PM to 5:30 PM. This is the first year he does it, and it's no shock that he loves it. Confinement has always kept its familiarity throughout Eddie's life, escalating more around his teenage years. Surrounded him at a young age, too. So when Eddie first found comfort having his fingers wrapped around a pencil and in letting it flow across a blank page, he'd never show it to anyone because he didn't have anyone.

No one ever knew there was a box sat under his childhood bed full of the art he produced. Well, that's a lie, his therapist does and she ate that shit up, diving right into it. To be able to finally pour your most vulnerable self onto something like art, an expressive yet abstract enough media, and concealing it further beyond its own boundaries is a step one usually approaches when the environment around them was unsettling or, even, frightening, she told Eddie.

That sent chills throughout Eddie's body, maybe the room spun a bit. Remembering the constant terror that absorbed Eddie, he sympathizes his younger self. Growing up as a gay kid during the eighties was fucking hard, he can't even comprehend how he managed. Especially with his mother being his mother, made matters worse. As if he was going to show his mother all his sketches of boys he had crushes on.

Opening himself up isn't something Eddie can say he's an expert at, after his therapist told him to do seven years ago, but every day he's still trying his best—he is better, though. She never told him to reveal his art because everyone has their personal things and aren't obligated to share if they don't want to, but Eddie decided upon it, actually what encouraged him to get his Fine Arts degree. Eddie always finds it humbling that people like his art, relying on the fact how he never thought he was able to receive other's contentment.

"Sorry." Richie apologizes, clearly seeing Eddie's body jump and hearing the fumbling of the paint brushes. He wasn't entirely sure if Richie would still be here, mostly because he had left yesterday approximately thirty minutes after classes were dismissed, without saying a word to Eddie. The sound of his door closing and Richie locking it can be heard quite clearly, but Eddie got too distracted while discussing with the students who attend art club that he wasn't sure if he had missed it.

Welcoming people is something Eddie feels comfortable enough to say he has acquired as a skill. He can't say that without giving credit to Mike, of course, that guy is good at everything. Ever since his first year of teaching, he feels lucky to have Mike to learn and study from—even if he does eat ravioli when the sun's rising—he's the greatest. Farewells are the ones he can never get a grasp at doing. How do you tell someone goodbye without having an awkward space of silence third wheeling?

There was no need for Eddie to keep thinking that maybe Richie genuinely dislikes him for not telling Eddie goodbye, yesterday—they literally talked again today during the morning and lunch! He's not required to and it was his first day on the job, shouldn't Eddie have been the one to tell him? Eddie can communicate, too. _Use your manners, approach Richie, and say goodbye like a decent human being, asshole._

Yeah, being the endorser for the art club is an excuse for staying late, today, but it wouldn't be completely true if Eddie leaves out the other part about waiting until Richie left so that he didn't have to deal with an awkward goodbye or chickening out of saying anything at all.

Now, Richie's standing by Eddie's entrance, and if he ends up telling Eddie goodbye, he's going to feel like a bigger jerk and most possibly going to blast a sad Coldplay track off their first or second album on the ride home.

"Are you headed out?" Eddie asks, disregarding the fact he got startled just a second ago, and continues picking up other art materials.

"Yeah, but I wanted to ask if you needed any help cleaning up or something before I jet," Richie responds, finishing the sentence by mimicking a jet taking off with his hand and adding the "swoosh" sound along, in unison.

Eddie looks around, spotting nothing else but what he's already holding in his hand. He shrugs while visibly frowning, nodding, "I'm basically done, but thank you. And you know you can enter if you want, right? Unless, you're a republican."

"Eds, buddy, in this wretched economy? We both know neither of us can afford it. Except, maybe, Mike. He's got the shoes."

Eddie chuckles. He's right. Mike's probably got a whole secret closet for them.

Only slow footsteps are heard entering the room, after Eddie had to turn his back towards Richie, in order to proceed organizing the items in his hands back where they belong. Richie whistles in an impressed tone, "This is incredible.

Richie's footsteps come into a halt. Eddie can't see him, but from what he hears he figures Richie is looking at the paintings his students are in the process of creating. Eddie shifts over by the sink to wash the paint brushes.

"Do you tell them to go fucking crazy or do you give them a certain task," Richie asks.  
Eddie turns his head enough to catch Richie in his sight without stopping his fingers from scrubbing the paint off, "Uh, I give them an objective for every project we do."

"What's this one?"

Water droplets make contact with Eddie's right cheek as he shakes the paint brushes lightly, before placing them inside a cup to let them air-dry. When the faucet is turned off, Eddie expects the stillness of the atmosphere to mess with him, perhaps converting a completely normal and pleasant conversation into a graceless one. He's surprised by how his mind casually kept strolling along. The reason being isn't something Eddie would admit out loud, but he's grown quite comfortable, from this (very) short amount of time, being around Richie, and that is a fact Eddie can't dismiss.

"Paint a song," Eddie says, patting his wet hands on his apron and drying his cheek with his sleeve. He walks over to where Richie is at and stands beside him. Eddie continues after Richie responds with an invested hum, "And when we're all done, everyone's going to reveal and present what song was painted."

"Dude, that's genius. Which one's yours?"

"That one on the left," Eddie points then crosses his arms over his chest.

A black, metallic spear. Eddie doesn't know either. He's never known why that specific object crosses his mind so much. The only knowledge he contains according to a spear is: once your hands get a grip of it, you're in control.

Naturally, picturing a person having control over a spear sends someone to automatically think of a bad outcome surrounding a physical activity of violence. But Eddie's symbolic take always tugs at his heart. Wanting control means wanting change, and that takes bravery. He knows if the act of violence was engaged in, it wasn't because iniquity enveloped; most likely, the evil needed to be fend off. Not to protect oneself, but to protect another. For love.

Vines with flowers wrap around the spear. Around the end of the spear, black and gray strokes surround it until the center, flowing into light shades of warm tones throughout the rest of the canvas. The spear is going into the light.

Richie's silent for a moment, studying Eddie's painting.

"Wow, I'm- I ca- this is beautiful, man, " Richie's voice is soft.

"Oh," Eddie didn't really expect that response out of Richie, but it was nice, "Thank you, Richie."

"Am I allowed to ask which song?"

Eddie's eyes look up to the right towards Richie, without moving a muscle. Richie twists his torso a bit to face Eddie.

"Guess," Eddie says. Richie's lips slowly stretch into a smile. Richie lets go of his satchel's strap to tap his fingers on his chin.

"Hm, now this one's quite the challenge, for sure. You've got me in quite a pickle here, Mr. K, I'll tell ya," Richie speaks in a loud transatlantic accent. He does voices a lot, and Eddie can't say he minds them.

Externally, of course, he resorts to appearing annoyed by giving Richie a deadpan stare. Richie laughs and disputes it.

"Okay," Richie carries on using his regular voice, "my first guess has to be–"

"Only one guess," Eddie clarifies.

"My only one guess has to be..." Richie thinks. He snaps his fingers, "'Cherry Pie'."

Eddie widens his eyes, which wipes off the smug smile on Richie's face and says, "No fucking way."

"Wait, I was right," Richie sincerely asks with both a surprised and impressed tone of voice.

"No, asshole! I was messing with you!"

Richie does a full body laugh, with his shoulders lightly bouncing up and down, Eddie doesn't try to keep back his smile while staring at Richie.

"Holy shit," Richie transitions back into speaking, "I deserved that, Mr. Kaspbrak. The word "karma" will now legally be changed to "Kaspbrak". God, Kaspbrak's a bitch."

"Shut up," Eddie responds, the smile is still there. Bigger than ever.

"So, what is it?" Richie asks.

"Hm," Eddie hums in question, drifting away from what feels like a trance, looking at Richie.

"The song you painted?"

"Oh- right." Eddie turns his head away from Richie, now staring back at his painting,"'I'm Still Standing'."

"By Sir. Elton?"

"Yep." Eddie pronounces the "p" with a pop from his lips, producing an echo which retires as it finds itself along the classroom's walls.

"Yeah," Richie let's out as almost a whisper, studying Eddie's painting, "I get that."

"This may come out more fucking insane than it sounds in my head, but–," Eddie stops himself, retrieveing a glance towards Richie and his eyes are met with his profile. Sharing art with others, letting them gain their own perception only from the visuals, is one thing for Eddie. Sharing art and excess, vocal/written details about it is a line he never likes crossing. But, at this moment, his words easily roll off his tounge, and calm, like water in a river stream. He faces back to his painting, then feels Richie's eyes on him.

"This spear I painted is like this reoccurring item that crosses my mind a lot. I know, people have reoccurring thoughts about many things, every single day, but this one's often enough for me to take recognition of it. I mentioned this to my therapist and she said maybe it links into a past, traumatic memory," Eddie chuckles, "I don't know, maybe she's right. Nothing ever seems to spark in my brain about a spear in my life. My mom would've killed me before I even stepped near a spear. Then I once thought about alternative and parallel universes, and—I guess—it made sense."

He forces himself to look back at Richie. Once he does, his confidence fades, seeing Richie with a huge smile on his face, "Fuck. I'm sorry I shouldn't have just bombarded you with my fucking internal monologue. I'm not paying my fucking therapist for me to introduce my dumbass psycho thoughts to you–."

"Eddie, are you serious, man," Richie finally cuts him off, "If anything we were probably destined to be psycho partners."

Eddie does his famous furrowing of the eyebrows expression, "What?"

"I totally get you. The only difference is a bridge."

His eyebrows relax, "A bridge?"

"Yeah. In another life, for me, a bridge is important. More like, uh," Richie thinks, guiding his eyes up to the ceiling while he does, "A milestone. A huge one, of course, but, in a way, sad. I always feel sympathy for them—myself. Like, I hope they're—I'm—okay, do you know what I mean?"

Eddie feels the same emotions that are entrapped in Richie's eyes, the ones staring right at him. Reassuring.

"I do." Eddie answers. He profoundly does.

For once, Eddie's head is met with a state of full tranquility.

🍎

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man i wanted to make this a one shot but i've literally been writing this for maybe three months already. i'm going absolutely mental being the only one giving myself feedback on this, so thank you if you've read what i've written and liked it. it means a lot <3 (now i've got finish writing the second chapter)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❗tw: abuse: there's a couple mentions of sonia and her abusive relationship towards eddie, but it's mostly subtle
> 
> 🌟 i know it's been a long while since the last update, but i finally completed this and i'm very excited for people to read it. Thank you to anyone who reads this, and I hope you enjoy :)

October strolls away in a blink of an eye. Maybe, it appears that way because Eddie's friendship with Richie had been blossoming throughout the month, becoming a pleasant distraction in his life.

Goodbye's aren't awkward anymore, usually Richie stays around the same hours as Eddie—he figures it's because he's still settling in and from his own early days on the job experience—walking out of campus with each other. From there, they always head their separate ways. They've never hung out outside of campus before, but Eddie still considers him a close friend. The increase in his iPhone's screen time statistics escalated due to texting Richie, so "close friend" isn't an exaggeration.

Saturday • October 30, 2016

**8:34 PM**  
**that guy**

**that guy:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **eddie** : dude stfu you're going to wake up my self-deprecations

 **that guy** : aaaaaaaaaaaaa

 **eddie** : thank you

 **that guy** : so who or what is mr. kaspbrak dressing up as this year

 **eddie** : none of your business

 **that guy** : please don't tell me you're going to dress up as count dracula

 **eddie** : ...

 **that guy** : AN ELLIPSIS

 **that guy** : EDWARD NO

 **eddie** : i'm not

 **that guy** : phew! good

 **eddie** : i already dressed up as count dracula my first year teaching

 **that guy** : WHAT

 **that guy** : okay i would like to see pictures of that right now

 **eddie** : no

 **that guy** : :'(

 **eddie** : what about YOU huh? shakespeare?

 **that guy** : none of your business

 **eddie** : fine

 **eddie** : guess we'll see tomorrow

 **that guy** : also mike already said yes but i wanted to invite you over to my stand-up set i'm doing tomorrow? i know this is pretty late and it's totally reasonable if you can't make it because you already had other plans

 **eddie** : richie holy shit

 **eddie** : yeah of course i'll be there!!

 **that guy** : oh fuck yeah!

 **that guy** : it's taking place at Swanks Bar @ 9pm :)

Eddie didn't even know Richie did stand-up. Richie's never mentioned it before. But he's so psyched he got invited to his upcoming show. There's no doubt he's going to do great because Richie is really funny and has that charming way of intriguing people.

Just how Richie walked into the teacher's lounge wearing, what it appeared like, a quick DIY costume slapped together of a black trenchcoat, a black top hat, and completing the look is white paint layered on his face with a bit of black around his eyes and mouth, that next morning.

"Good morning, guys– I mean– BABADOOK," Richie's cheerful greeting transitions into the hoarse impression of the character, resulting to a few laughs from some of the other faculty.

Eddie slumps his forehead against his right palm.

Mike's clueless to Richie entering. He had been deep in conversation with Eddie about how his friend (more than friend), Bill, will be tagging along to Richie's stand-up performance, leading him to talk about Bill's new book and Bill. Eddie's met Bill and he's great, but if he ever breaks Mike's heart he's going to hit him over the head with one of his own books.

Mike stops mid-conversation as he notices Eddie look up behind him. Mike turns around.

"Holy shi– ," Mike gets startled, grasping on his shirt, "Richie, what the fuck?!"

Both Eddie and Richie laugh at Mike.

"I would apologize but it's Halloween, baby!" Richie says, patting Mike's shoulders, "And look at you, you handsome cowboy!"

"And look at you...you–" Mike studies Richie's costume, his eyes full of confusion while they scan him, "Marilyn Manson?"

"Mike, I did not spend two hours getting dressed for you to call me Marilyn Manson."

"Well, then, maybe you should've taken three hours." Mike responds with a neutral stare, taking a sip of his coffee.

Richie's mouth falls agape, pointing a finger at Mike and his eyes land on Eddie. Eddie snickers.

"Jesus, Mike, when did yo–," Richie starts to say something, but immediately does a double take towards Eddie.

Richie's silent, studying Eddie. Eddie becomes awkward. His cheeks are catching a fever. His eyes dart back and forth between Richie's blue eyes to the window on his left. A corner of his lips slightly curve.

"What?" Eddie asks.

There's finally a reaction out of Richie, and it's a huge smile.

"Are you dressed as Curious George's owner?" Richie's voice is quiet.

"Yeah, his name's Ted Shackleford, you uncultured asshole." Eddie replies.

One of Eddie's college friends, Beverly, brought it up once, how she thought Eddie looks exactly like Ted Shackleford. Ben, Eddie's roommate and now husband to Beverly, was on her side, agreeing with her—he was so head over heels for her, of course he was! Since then, he's never lived it down. Eddie always denies the comparison, even if he can distinguish the resemblance, which only made Beverly's teasing worse. To the point where she had set Eddie's contact photo as the character, and still has it till this day. She'll be really pleased when she sees him.

"Jeez, I didn't know Ted Shackleford was such a bitch." Richie fakes a sad tone and a frown. Richie takes a seat around the circular table they've made their usual seating area. Eddie slowly slides a pencil doodle tiled mug across the table, containing coffee. The coffee slightly sloshes within the mug before it comes to a stop in front of where Richie is seated. Richie cups the mug against his black painted palms.

"I take it back," Richie retracts, taking a sip. He sets the mug back down and looks straight at Eddie, "My apologies, Ted Shackleford. You are a kind bitch."

"Aw, shucks." Eddie couldn't have responded more visibly and audibly sarcastic.

"No, but joking aside, you nailed it! I think you look great." Richie states and smiles genuinely, taking another sip.

Eddie shouldn't be feeling his chest ache. Guess talking to himself in the mirror, persuading his reflection to not grow any emotional attachment for his new co-worker, fucking blows. He figures he's farther down the rabbit hole due to how he's beginning to have no control over how he reacts physically—but that hasn't stopped the mirror discourses.

Eddie's never felt this way before. He's never known he could feel this way. He secretly likes it. But that scares him. He's afraid of only getting a taste of it, and then losing that sense if he opens his mouth. So, he'll stick with what he's got right now. He's quite delighted with it.

"Thanks, Rich." They hold their smiles and long stares for a couple of seconds.

"I still have no fucking clue who you're supposed to be." Mike tells Richie.

🍎

Swanks Bar is steady on it's feet, assuming from the amount of copyrighted characters that were getting intoxicated—Eddie would have been included as one if it wasn't a Monday. Eddie can understand the appeal, it's very modern and cozy. The building isn't just one large open area where you feel like everyone is looking at you. Several walls help separate the place, giving people options whether they want to lay back or have fun. Lighting plays a big part in the decore, LED strip lights are heavily depended on, but not to the point where it's obnoxious to one's sight. The color red and orange clash nicely together as they even out with the dim lighting.

Usually, the bar has local musical artists or bands host the evening, but tonight is "Swanky Stand-Up Night", so the area that's supposed to be more upbeat are just people conversating while bobbing their heads to some alternative music. Eddie arrived twenty minutes earlier, before the stand-up performances actually start. Eddie's seeking for Richie, but he sees no sign of him—maybe he's prepping backstage. Richie had told him earlier that he's scheduled as the second act, so "make sure you boo at the first guy".

"Where is he?" Beverly asks, her right arm is tangled with Ben's arm as they follow Eddie. After work, he met up with Beverly and Ben at his place because the event was still hours away from starting. Beverly almost screamed when she noticed Eddie's costume.

Halloween during the first college years were spent with Beverly and Ben sitting Eddie down so they can have a horror flick marathon, with shit loads of candy. Without any surprise, Eddie wasn't allowed to watch them growing up. Trying to make the parent look bad here isn't something that can be achieved, he'll give his mother this one. He can't say he's ever cared for the horror genre, but he'd still give in because it was Beverly and Ben. The candy bowl was also as persuading, so it had become a Halloween tradition—Mike and Bill joined after everyone instantly clicked. Eddie did have plans for tonight, like he has had every past year since that first movie marathon, but he figured why not change them up a bit. When Eddie told them, of course they were up for it. Eddie predicts that from Beverly's pixelated, video chat face expression he received after, she's caught on how many times Eddie name-drops Richie's name every time they talk, which is why she didn't hesitate taking the invite.

After all, he was going to be the sober one, so they gladly decided to hitch a ride in his car.

"I don't know," Eddie responds, continuing to look until his eyes land on Mike and Bill by the bar. He instantly walks over to meet with them.

"—So, surely, he's a porcupine." Bill says, his voice becomes clearer, and easier to distinguish as Eddie approaches closer to where they're standing.

"Bill. You're talking about Sonic, right? Like, Sonic the Hedgehog?" Mike questions, sounding too dumbfounded to fully process what has been said to him.

"Yeah, Sonic the Hedg— oh shit."

Mike pat's him on the back, then meets eyes with Eddie, so he leaves the conversation to end there to greet them. They all immediately enter into conversation, and Ben, generously, stated the drinks were on him—including Eddie's non-alcoholic lemonade. Making their way over to the small venue corner, they found a seating area that had a clear view of the stage.  
Patiently waiting, there's a sudden tap on Eddie's bicep. He's met with a pair of of familiar faces, after twisting his torso to look behind him.

"Mr. Kaspbrak, right?" The man, the one who tapped his arm, asks. Standing next to him is a woman, who, from what Eddie can piece together from his memory, is the man's wife. Eddie's brain, still trying to put names to these faces, finally sparks.

"Yes, that's me. The Uris's?" It was Eddie's turn to ask. He stands up from his seat. Eddie shakes their hands, not even waiting for confirmation because he was certain.

"Are you here for Richie, too?" Patty asks.

"Oh, God, no. That guy fucking sucks." Eddie quickly remarks. He quickly decides to shut up, not knowing how Stan and Patty would react to that. He's not friends with them, their dynamic lands more around professional acquaintances. How does a teacher talk to parents of a former student outside of work related events? That wasn't in the teacher handbook.

Patty laughs. Stan huffs out a quick chuckle. They're cool. They're cool with him. He should've known they were cool just on the way they instantly insisted Eddie to call them by Patty and Stan, instead of their full first names or last names basis.

"Yeah, I can tell why you and Richie get along." Stan states.

Eddie smiles. He loathes that his first thought to them bringing up Richie is that Richie must have talked about him. Of fucking course, he had to be brought up somehow, Stan and Patty made it obvious they know they're friends. The thought that makes him feel more ashamed is: Does Richie constantly, randomly bring Eddie up in conversations with his friends? Nothing can make that sound less selfish, especially not the fact that Eddie wishes Richie does.

Eddie offers Stan and Patty to sit with the rest of them, insists to be referred as Eddie, and introduces them to everyone at the table. Time flies as they're all enjoying talking about whatever gets brought up, until the host for the stand-up gets up stage and introduces the first act.

A woman walks out of the curtains, as she is the first comedian to perform. Just by the comedic awkwardness she carries with her, she had everyone laughing. Richie's booing request was out the window. Eddie enjoyed her material.  
After moving away from New York, he stopped going to any small stand-up shows like these. He didn't realize how much he missed it. He's more than happy to be here, surrounded by his friends and supporting one of them.

Now it's Richie's turn to be introduced.

He walks out and greets the crowd. Eddie forgot about Richie's costume, but that makes him more endearing. Eddie cheers the loudest.

"I sometimes have..." there's a huff of air blown into the microphone and a three second pause, "dreams." Scatter laughter comes from the small crowd. Some guy woo's. "Yeah, that guy knows what I'm talking about." More laughter. "Um, yeah, I have these weird fucking dreams, man, like of this clown. And, I guess, they would be considered nightmares if this clown wasn't so damn sexy." Laughter.

"He's got this huge forehead, yellow eyes, piss color. Orange hair like Autumn leaves and a receding hairline that goes like– ," Richie cuts off his sensual voice. He begins to do weird exaggerated leg stretches, pulling his shirt down as if he were covering a boner. The crowd's losing it.

"My sincerest apologies, guys. My dick's being a fucking narcissist. Always wanting the attention. He gets it from me, his Pappy." he delivers with a deadpan voice.

"Anyways! You guys, I recently learned that nothing fucking matters and this clown will eventually fucking murder me! Hoorah!"

"Yes, the love of my life is a triple threat." He leaves a long pause. The audience is starting to laugh. His eyebrows shoot up, as if he's expecting a response. "Well? Is no one going to ask "Why?"" The same guy who woo'd earlier, is the one who shouts "why?"

"Thank you for asking. The love of my life is a triple treat because he is a clown, he is sexy, and he is incredibly, incredibly homophobic!" He expresses in an excited tone.

"Now you're probably thinking "But Mr. Richie Tozier sir, did you ever think that maybe the clown's the one living in a nightmare?" Because that's what I want you to think in order to make this bit work." The crowd laughs.

"Now shut the fuck up, okay, I have to get back on script." He clears his throat and transitions back to a more dramatic act, starting off with a loud gasp, "All this time, I was the nightmare? It was me and It was I?"

"Yes, I technically just said the same thing twice in the previous sentence, but- but the lights are on me right now, assholes? Okay? Look at me- No, look me in the eyes." Moment of silence.

"AHHH!" He attempts to frighten the crowd by yelling into the mic, and it's pulled off. "Ha-ha ha! I got you, motherfuckers– Oh, wow. Now I get why that clown is homophobic. Oh, shit. Whoops. Sorry, gays. My bad."

He sighs into the mic, "I'm not funny. I'm not! I have friends who are funny, so how can I be funny? But, if any of my funny friends try to tell me a joke, well then I'm going to have to tell them "Dude, it's cool that you're funny, but I'm not funny. But if you want to fuck later then yeah I'm up for it"."

"If you suspected something from my previous bit, then you're right, we're both gay. If you didn't suspect something from my previous bit, then you were who I was mocking." Laughter.

Oh, is all Eddie manages to think. Richie's never explicitly mentioned anything about his sexuality, not that he's supposed to. Eddie's never asked because he's not an insensitive prick. This is the first time Richie ever states it anywhere near Eddie. And to a group of fifty strangers. Eddie's proud of him. Even if Richie were to be the most openly gay individual in the world, that still takes a lot of guts for one to do.

"I also recently got hired here locally as a high school teacher. Yep...might get fired after that dick bit I did at the beginning so that rocks. No, yeah, I'm a gay high school teacher and that got me thinking: what teachers of mine were queer? Is it just me or–" The crowd cheers.

"Okay, straights don't get too excited, you're not a part of this. It's a genuine thought, though. Of course, I didn't have manners as a kid, but, as a closeted kid, I knew trying to out someone was a dick move and they have every right to not give out that information, especially not to little rat children. But I do think very often, if we were both a letter in the LGBT+ community, did that mean we were automatic besties?"

"I remember having this openly lesbian fifth grade teacher, but none of the students ever gave her shit because she was the fucking coolest. You know, as every lesbian is. She was my favorite. And I was her favorite, she would give me scented stickers the most and I lived for that shit. But...now I'm starting to think that maybe I was one of her favorites because she knew I was– ." He pauses, pouting his lips in a thinking manner.

"She knew what she was doing with those scented stickers, though. Every single kid in that classroom had skyrocketing grades because we wanted scented stickers. The school principal would come into the classroom and we'd be working like we've never been in our entire little lives. But once he'd leave, we'd be dealing scented stickers to each other as if we were frauding for Wall Street. In the middle of the school year we started wearing suit and ties and, one by one, tip our fedoras to our superior lesbian leader on the way in and out of the classroom."

"It was great. I picture when upper management asked what she's doing to keep these children's grades so high, she just slammed a pack of scented stickers on the table and said, "These motherfuckers, right here"."

"We were probably drugged, but whatever I stole her scented stickers idea, anyways. My name's Richie Tozier, thank you so much for your time." He waves and exits the stage.

Eddie's the first one to applaud and the last one to stop.

Six tequila shot glasses, a water bottle, and a glass of lemonade clink when brought together, after Richie meets them by the bar. Everyone's having a great time. Getting along with the group as a whole had Eddie wondering how easily they all clicked. But, hey, he wasn't complaining because this was the first time he's ever felt like this. Like he has something he's never had. A family.

In fact, Eddie couldn't help but to be happy. Happy enough to feel like he wants to cry, but his happiness overflows his entire brain that it doesn't let him.

Mike and Bill were the first ones to congratulate and compliment Richie, as they were the nearest to when he approached the group. Richie walked over to greet Stan and Patty, who tightly embraced him and made him laugh about something unintelligible. Eddie wasn't aware he was staring, until he caught eyes with Richie. It was too late to play it cool, Richie was already approaching him.

"Hey..." is all Richie can say before Eddie brings him into a hug. He can feel the confusion from Richie's body language. For only a second, though, because Richie then reciprocates the hug.

"I knew you'd do amazing," Eddie says loud enough for only Richie to hear, "I'm proud of you."

Riche hugs tighter, leaning more into Eddie.

Richie deserves to know he's proud of him. He deserves to be comforted with love and care. Eddie once knew the feeling of not having that. It's lonely. He wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"Thanks, Eds." Richie almost whispers. Eddie can hear him smiling.

"And, I swear to God, if anyone ever insults you for being yourself, I will elbow the living shit out of them," Eddie threatens.

He feels Richie's torso do a slight movement as he huffs out a laugh before they let go.

"Ed Shackleford, are you introducing us to Mr. Babadook, or do I have to rudely intervene?" Beverly speaks out. Her and Ben move closer to where Richie and Eddie are stood.

"Holy shit. "Ed Shackleford" is fucking genius! Are you Beverly?" Richie sounds ecstatic.

"Yes, I am. Nice to know Eddie talks about me all the time."

"My pleasure," Eddie says with a cheeky, sly smile, taking a few steps next to Ben, "And this is her other half, Ben. The nice one."

"Yeah, he's right," Beverly agrees, pouting her lips.

"Hi, I'm Ben, it's nice to meet you." Ben leans in to give Richie a handshake with the sweetest smile anyone will ever see.

Richie shakes Ben's hand, "Yeah, I'm so stoked to meet you guys! Eddie does mention you a lot, I'll admit. He's obsessed! Oh, and I'm Richie, just in case you didn't already hear it announced for the millionth time."

"The famous Richie who Eddie let pay for his stuff, but kept refusing for my help when I'd offer to pay for his stuff, except for that one time? Yes, I'm aware." Bev crosses her arms, jokingly acting like she's upset.

Eddie rolls his eyes, smiling. Another thing Beverly would never let Eddie live down. Once Beverly received more context around the Richie origin story, he knew she was going to hold that against him. Letting a total stranger pay for his stuff and not his best friend. He knows she isn't mad at him, but if it makes Beverly feel better about it to tease Eddie like this, then he won't stop her.

"Oh, so he talks about me, too? Interesting." Richie smugly responds.

_Fuck. Quick, say something stupid!_

"Yeah, about how much you fucking suck." Eddie responds, flipping him off. A bit too stupid there, bud, but enough for him to find intriguing.

Richie smiles, then puckers his lips and sends a kiss over to Eddie. Eddie catches the imaginary kiss, puts on a fake loving smile before he throws it on the ground, stomping on it.

Richie gasps, "You vile man." Richie repeats the previous action in a more aggressive manner, only for Eddie to react the same way he did before, by stomping on the imaginary kiss. They continue repeating the actions at a faster pace for a couple of seconds, until they both crack and are laughing on the brink of tears.

_See? Intrigued._

Eddie is confident in the ways he knows Richie. He knows Richie likes sugar in his coffee but not too much where one can taste it more than the creamer. He knows he puts so much effort into his job, so that he can make sure his students are excited to wanting learn and not just doing it because it's mandatory. He knows he's the funniest person ever. He knows that Richie loves it when Eddie jokes around with him by spitballing stupid shit. He knows he comes into work every single day with funky, hipster-ish looking ties. He knows that Richie makes everything better whenever he's around.

What he wasn't crucially aware about was how trying to intrigue Richie with his own preposterousness would backfire with Richie throwing Eddie air kisses, making Eddie feel crazier than he did before.

"And I thought you guys were supposed to be the sober ones." Stan's voice suddenly intervenes, snapping Eddie back into a mediocre sane state of mind. A couple of laughter emerges from everyone in the group gathering closer together—having gotten new drinks from the bar.

"Aw, Staniel, guess I'll call an Uber for you and not drive you home like I planned to. Not you, Patty, I love you," Richie says, getting a laugh out of Patty.

"I wish you hadn't convinced me to let you be the designated driver." Stan says, mostly to himself, sighing before drinking what was left of his beverage.

Eddie chuckles, "Wait, what? Why would anyone beg to be the designated driver?"

"He said he didn't want to leave you on your own." Patty deliveres the answer. Eddie catches Richie nodding his head, signaling for Patty to stop. When Richie turns over to look at Eddie, he gives him a big, goofy smile, attempting to act subtle.

"Sober buddies, yay..." Richie expresses with redeeming excitement.

Richie Tozier will be the cause of Eddie's death. The fucked up part is that Eddie can't say he'd be upset about it.

"Oh, no. Did I do something wrong?" Patty worries.

"You could never. I love you." Richie immediately reassures her.

Eddie's mind feels like it crashed. There are plenty of ways he can respond to that, but words have become a blur.

"Richie, what the fuck? That's really nice of you, but this is your night. Yeah, it's probably a smarter choice to not wake up hungover tomorrow morning since we both have work, but you deserve to celebrate," Eddie confesses, his tone of voice contains a tinge of bothersome, but overall compassion. His brows are angled with a slight curve, expressing tenderness.

"Don't worry, man. I'm having a blast! I don't need to drink to celebrate, I'm old. Besides, you're the best sober buddy I've ever had." Richie playfully elbows Eddie's arm, giving him a kind smile.

Rolling of the eyes is Eddie's go-to route when reacting to most things, but with Richie's arrival it's become difficult to not accompany the action with a smile.

Mike scoffs. "What? What about me," Mike asks, insulted, already showing tipsy mannerisms. Bill is close to him, an arm around Mike's waist.

"Dude, you're literally drunk right now," Richie replies, confusingly chuckling.

"But I've been sober every other time I've been around you," Mike points out. The whole group looks around at one another, eyebrows raised.

"Well, he's got a point," Bill is the first to speak out what everyone else is thinking. Everyone laughs as they outspokenly agree.

Midnight strikes, having to say goodbye to Halloween and some of his friends. Eddie guides Beverly, Ben, Mike, and Bill into his car, while Richie guides Stan and Patty into his own vehicle. Before Eddie opened the driver's door, he hears Richie call out to him and jogging his way.

"Hey, Richie, what's up?" Eddie takes a few steps to meet with Richie.

Richie timidly smiles at the ground, shoving his hands into his trenchcoat's pockets. "I wanted to thank you. For coming," Richie quietly says, giving Eddie a shy smile.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Eddie answers honestly.

"Say 'trick-or-treat'," Richie randomly insists.

"Uh..." Eddie can't even wrap his head around what's going on because Richie continues.

"Please..." Richie sings.

Eddie stares at Richie for a beat, "You're so weird."

"And you love that. Yeah, see, you're smiling." Richie teasingly pokes at one of Eddie's dimples.

Eddie fails keeping a serious face and laughs, smacking Richie's hand away. "Okay, okay, fine. Let's just hurry this up before drunk Bill, in the front seat over here, pulls on the gear stick and reverses my car into a pole," Eddie takes a moment before continuing.

"Trick-or-treat."

"Happy belated Halloween! And happy birthday!" Richie takes a bag out of his trenchcoat pocket, handing it to Eddie.

Handling four drunk friends made him lose track of time that he forgot about his birthday. But Richie remembered.

"Wait, you–" Eddie begins to ask the predictable question.

"Of course I remembered. Not many are lucky enough to have a Spagheds as their friend."

Now it's impossible for Eddie to hide the blush forming across his cheeks. He looks down to see what he received. A bag of hard caramel candies is held in Eddie's hands.

"No way, these are my favorite," Eddie exclaims.

"I know. You're like a little caramel gremlin." Richie jokes.

"Fuck you." Eddie tells Richie, making him laugh. With a smile, he studies Richie slightly tilt his head back. The white paint is smearing off of his face because of his sweat, but it's somehow impossible for him to look hideous. Richie is pretty under parking lot light posts as they define his most exquisite features. At this moment, all Eddie really wants to do is paint him. And show the whole world the beauty Richie Tozier carries inside and out. He'll have to pity those who are unfortunate to simply take notice of his lovely qualities the way Eddie views them with a wrenched heart.

🍎

Chicago's first annual snowfall occurs during the last week of November. Autumn decorations are taken down in preparation of Christmas. Thanksgiving leftovers are reheated to be eaten. A few more days of holiday break until the country's loud again. And a few more minutes until Richie steps inside of Eddie's apartment for the first time.

Eddie's right leg bounces up and down, anxiously, sitting along the edge of his couch. Waiting. If circumstances were different, Eddie would've been giving himself a hard time for inviting Richie over. But circumstances aren't different and he did not invite him over, in fact, Richie willingly invited himself yesterday, in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner over at Stan and Patty's house. All he can give himself shit for is not stopping Richie. Even then, there's a huge chunk of Eddie's brain that is grateful he didn't—the chunk that has a thing for Richie.

Eddie's apartment is heaven for those who like the scent of coconut and displayed ceramic frogs of all sorts. Art, bordered with white frames, covers most of the walls, bringing some modern interior design aspects to the table, but the scale of abstract the art holds balances modernization within a lived in environment. It's quite impossible for Eddie's apartment to not look lived in, since he loves displaying objects he finds sweet, like gifts or unique stuff he finds at a local flea market, on top of surfaces.

Eddie had already completed his weekly apartment deep clean, so there was no need to stress over cleaning. Now stress organizing is where it was at. But Eddie was too anxious to stress about anything else other than Richie. He's not even sure why he would stress about Richie coming over to his place, Eddie loves his place. Well, there is the fact that this will be the first time just the two of them hang out outside of work. Oh, yeah, and Eddie's kind of got a crush on the guy.

It's twenty past three in the afternoon when Richie knocks on Eddie's door, twenty minutes later than what Richie originally said. He's stood outside the other end of the door, holding a couple bags from Staples. He wears a black baseball cap with an embroidered caption that says "BASEBALL!". He wears a navy blue jacket, appropriate for the cold weather, with the hoodie over his cap. His breath is visible when he smiles, huffing some air out as he sees Eddie open the door.

"Crafting time, baby," Richie speaks, holding the bags up higher. Eddie welcomes Richie inside his apartment, and Richie happily steps in.

"Sorry I'm late, I was looking for scented stickers. I scavangered throughout the whole store like five times and nothing. Can you believe that? I also asked if they could check if they had some in the back but I was unluc—" Richie stops his rambling when he comes across Eddie's bar. Eddie locks the door.

"No shit. Mr. Kaspbrak owns a set of ceramic frogs doing yoga poses on his kitchen bar. This is fucking incredible," Richie says calmly. Eddie doesn't get to respond because Richie already turned towards the living room, spotting his other frog collection on his coffee table.

Richie gasps with excitement, looking at Eddie.

"Yes, it's a frog band," Eddie finally answers.

"That one's playing a fucking clarinet, Eddie!"

Endorsing the school's art club led Eddie being asked if he can help with their annual winter dance. This year will be his third year giving a hand at making the decorations. And every year he works on it alone in his apartment. When Patty asked what were his plans for the rest of the week, and Eddie brought up the winter dance, he never expected for that to bring Richie over. Now they're sat on Eddie's couch, cutting up pink snowflakes.

Eddie put on some tunes just so that they can avoid inevitable silence.

"So, Spagheds," Richie begins.

"Don't call me that," Eddie neutrally says, snipping away with pure concentration.

"Were you ever a fan of school dances?" Richie asks.

"Oh, God, no," Eddie chuckles humorlessly.

"What," Richie's voice goes high, "Why not?" Richie reaches over the coffee table to grab another sheet of pink construction paper.

"I don't know, they were like pretty fucking lame, dude. You can not tell me you disagree."

"Oh, no, they were fucking awful, but that's what made them fun. You know, like when you watch a really bad movie, but it's a great movie because you have so much fun shitting on it."

"Well, I wouldn't really know. I only went to two school dances, and I snuck out to go to the first one."

"Eddie," Richie stretches his name, "A rebel? Sneaking out? This has to be a myth."

"Believe me, if you met my mom you would've been encouraging me to get the fuck out of there." Eddie says with a smile, almost laughing. He can find the humor in his relationship with his mother, he's learned to cope that way. But he can't avoid feeling the slight tug of sadness at the corner of his lips. Appearantly, he's not so good at hiding it either, because he can feel Richie staring. Richie's smart, like really fucking smart. In the way, anyone would be surprised to find out after getting to know the guy. So, Eddie knows Richie has picked up on Eddie's issues with his mother, even though Eddie has only subtly mentioned his mother before.

Eddie turns to face him.

Eddie doesn't open his mouth to ask anything, he just simply stares back. Richie's blue eyes capture the gloominess of a dark sky.

"Eds, if we were childhood friends, I would've of helped you sneak out every fucking day. Even if your mom could've killed me."

Eddie smiles, his eyes shine. He looks down. He's recognized how he doesn't get taken aback anymore when Richie says something really sweet to him. Because it wouldn't be Richie without the good-naturedness.

"It's okay, Richie. It's weird. Sometimes I feel sort of bad for my mom. I think a lot about how she would've been if the circumstances were different. If my dad didn't die and instead just left, would she still be crazy over protective over me? Did she fear losing me just how she lost my dad? But I know, at the end of the day, I hate her. And I've accepted that it's okay for me to feel this way, " Eddie shares.

Eddie looks back at Richie, he speaks softly with a small smile still lingering, "Sorry, I killed the mood, didn't I?"

"What? No, no, no, no–," Richie quickly reassures, "I love hearing you talk about anything and everything. You can angrily rant to me about why pie is better than cake, and I will one hundred percent be listening."

"Pie is obviously better than cake. Cake can fucking eat my asshole, dude."

"Wait, can you say that again, I wasn't listening."

Eddie rolls his eyes and playful shoves his shoulder against Richie's. "Shut up." Their bodies lightly swoon with the moment of tranquility surrounding them.

"Eds?" Richie quietly calls out. Eddie locks eyes with him. "You're braver than you think, you know?"

Eddie feels the creases in his forehead slowly relax. He feels his eyes big with wonder, without widening them.

"Thanks, Rich."

The day is short. They finish right before Eddie quits depending on the fading sunlight, and flicks on a light. Eddie expected Richie to have left as soon as they were done with the crafting, but he's delighted he hadn't. In fact, Richie insists on ordering pizza, convincing Eddie to choose between TLC or Lifetime—he chooses Lifetime.

Eddie learns the combination of eating and watching bad television with Richie is a deadly risk. He's never laughed this much in his life. He's also never been in the risk of choking this many times. It has probably been the first time Eddie has laughed this loud around Richie, and the first time he heard Richie snort.

Eddie's never felt so full of love. Speaking platonically, he really does love Richie. They haven't been friends for years, but it feels like they know each. Like they're meant to know each other. The same goes with the rest of his friends. Mike makes him feel comfortable and secure, especially about his future. Bev always makes it easier to breathe and lets his shoulders feel lighter. Ben encourages him to love and accept love from others, having never thought the act of love existed and would ever be deserving enough to receive it. Bill inpires him to be proud of what he creates and to be his own leader. Stan reassures him that it is okay to be afraid of anything and everything because, at the end of the day, he's made it. Patty makes him want to try to be happier. Richie sees how brave he is, reminding him how he is truly capable of anything and everything.

So when Richie finally states that he should be heading home at one in the morning, Eddie stops him.

"You should stay." Eddie blurts out. Richie stops on his track. "I mean, it's late. It'd be safer if you stayed over."

Richie twists his torso to look Eddie. He smiles with his eyes. "Yeah. Okay. I can sleep on the couch–"

"We can share my bed," Eddie takes a further leap of bravery, "My bed's so fucking comfortable you'll stop being an atheist. I promise."

Richie keeps his eyes on Eddie for a beat, and it starts feeling too fucking long.

"Pinky promise?" Richie responds. Eddie's face brightens.

"Pinky promise." Eddie reaches his hand out and links his pinky with Richie's.

The moonlight that seeps in through the blinds paints the bed in stripes. Good nights were exchanged right before Eddie turned off the lamp. They're laying silently on their backs, both with open eyes. Eddie's adrenaline boost is still circling his body, turning on his side to face towards Richie. Richie seems to follow and lays on his side as well. Their hands are tucked under their cheeks.

"I can say," Richie speaks first, "that you were right. From this point forward, I am a fully devoted Christian man. Unless you end up kicking me in the middle of the night, I will have to settle down as an agnostic."

"Agnostic means I'll still be right."

"But the real question is..."

"Mhm?" Eddie hums.

"How much fun would the little monkeys have jumping on the bed?"

"So much fucking fun that they would all fall down and bump their heads. They would also shit their tiny pants. And lucky for you, we can actually test these scientific facts, right now." Eddie removes the blanket off him and proceeds to stand on the mattress. He offers his hand to Richie, and Richie chuckles while he takes it, balancing himself up onto his feet.

"So, where are the little monkeys, Eds?"

Eddie checks his wrist as if there were a watch on it, "oh shit, I have horrible news!" Eddie puts on a British accent. They're already both lightly bouncing up and down. "The little monkeys can't make it, they're having breakfast with the queen!"

Eddie is surprised by the loud, wheezy laughter that stupid bit receives from Richie. Richie's shoulders are hunched and shaking rhythmically as he continues to lightly bounce. Eddie even let's out a chuckle, staring at Richie with pure joy. When Richie's focus reverts back, his bouncing transitions into actual jumping. Eddie tags along.

The first time his feet depart contact with the mattress for a split second, Eddie gets struck with some sort of breakthrough. Like he can define freedom using this very moment. His limbs are free. His face is at ease. He feels good. No one can stop him. She can try. Everyone can try. But he just won't stop.

Eddie's laughing. He's jumping, higher each time until he can't go any further. Richie doesn't seem to mind Eddie's adrenaline, in fact, he syncs with Eddie.

Suddenly, Eddie loses balance, but Richie reaches out to grab him, pulling him in too hard they both fall onto the bed. The settling silence is quickly filled with their combined laughter. Richie had taken off his glasses when they first laid down, so this could've ended very badly. Still, Eddie sighs contently.  
Two seconds later, he takes notice of the way they landed. Richie's on his back, while Eddie's stomach is in contact with the side of Richie's torso. Richie's right bicep is splayed beneath Eddie's head.

He finally feels his right hand being loosely held. They don't look at each other. Eddie figures Richie takes notice, too, when he attempts to let go of Eddie's hand. Instead, Eddie squeezes his hand, and Richie keeps it there.

Eddie slowly intertwines their fingers. He craves to tilt his head and kiss Richie. But he doesn't. He doesn't look at him. As an alternative, he nuzzles his head against Richie's chest. Words are unspoken and no one moves away. He soon falls asleep enveloped with Richie's warmth, taking one last step towards bravery for tonight.

🍎

Their position has changed when Eddie wakes, both of them are embracing each other. Chicago's cold weather has Eddie's apartment a bit colder than usual, making it harder for Eddie to retire from the coziness he currently obtains. He forces himself to get out of bed anyways. Richie stirs a bit but doesn't wake up. Once Eddie's feet touch the cold floor, he instantly regrets not staying in bed.

He follows his morning hygiene routine before he makes himself over to the kitchen. While the stove is preheating, Eddie remembers to place a spare toothbrush on the bathroom's counter with a sticky note that says, "for Richie. And don't eat the toothpaste. You look like you would."

His head is flooded with Richie's touch. It's driving him insane. They didn't even do anything. Everything was strictly platonic. Maybe he hasn't necessarily intertwined his legs and tucked his feet against his other friends' feet, but that's not a big deal. There's nothing to talk about.

Throughout making toast and frying eggs, Eddie's too distracted in trying not to screw up breakfast—even if it's hard for that to happen—to hear his bathroom door click shut. A laugh is what alerts Eddie that Richie's awake. One minute later, Richie makes his way towards the kitchen.

"Hey, good morning," Eddie greets him softly, turning the stove off.

"Good morning."

"You hungry?"

"No, sorry, I'm full," Richie leans over the bar, "I ate all of your toothpaste."

"Oh shit, hold on," Eddie halts from handing Richie a smiley face breakfast. He turns his back to add more bacon to the plate. "Okay, here you go."

"Thank yo–" Richie laughs when he notices that Eddie changed the smiley face to a mad face, adding bacon eyebrows. Eddie takes a seat next to Richie, smirking.

His smirk disappears when Richie takes out his phone, holding the plate next to Eddie. "Wait– Richie– what are you doing. Come on, stop it."

Richie snaps a photo. Seconds later, Eddie feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Saturday

**11:27 A.M.**  
**buffoonery experts**

**that guy** : [Image Attachment]

 **that guy** : twinsies !

 **eddie** : oh fuck you

 **bev-erage** : don't talk to me or my son ever again

 **$ bill** : I never knew eddie had a twin

 **mike not ike** : Yes I've met him and he's delicious

 **stan stan** : wait which one's Eddie?

 **pat pat** : That one obviously

 **ben and no jets** : Handsomes

 **that guy** : yes. very handsomes

 **eddie** : "handsomes"? that's not a word

 **ben and no jets** : Yes it is. It's plural for handsome

 **that guy** : yeah he's right i'm an english teacher so i'm qualified to confirm it

 **stan stan** : "i think the word soup was invented because it sounds like soup when you slurp soup" –Richie Tozier, last week

 **eddie** : what the fuck

 **$ bill** : Well...is he wrong?

 **eddie** : yes

 **bev-erage** : no

 **ben and no jets** : No.

 **stan stan** : yes.

 **mike not ike** : No

 **pat pat** : no

 **that guy** : thank you bill, bev, ben, mike, and patty

 **that guy** : each of you will be receiving lambos tomorrow

 **that guy** : stan and eddie will be receiving one (1) soup noodle stuck onto their mailboxes

 **stan stan** : can't wait

 **eddie** : you would be providing me with a meal and i'd be grateful

Sunday

**4:56 P.M.**  
**buffoonery experts**

**eddie** : RICHIE I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD

 **stan stan** : WHAT THE FUCK RICHIE

 **that guy** : what i told you i was going to do it

 **that guy** : ungrateful smh

🍎

Casually. Everything just went casually back to the way it was. Not even a peep about that night. Richie still very much talks to Eddie, with classes having been back in session, he's harder to avoid—but Eddie doesn't ever wish to avoid him.

Eddie isn't sure whether to regret that night. In fact, remembering doesn't make him want to physically crumple up into a ball like a piece of paper. Remembering makes Eddie's heart skip a beat, hopeful even.

Richie had the choice to let go. To move away whenever he chose to. But he never did. Instead, he moved in closer, wrapping his arms around Eddie. Fingertips lightly laid upon the revealing skin of Eddie's waist. He let Eddie lay on his chest, letting him hear his heart beat slowly settle back to its normal rate.

The next morning, Eddie was hesitant in initiating the conversation. His chest was ready to explode with asking Richie a million questions, but the one he truly wanted to ask was if he can take him out on a date. Thinking back, Eddie has never really asked anyone on a date. To be honest, there's never been anyone he's liked enough to want to ask. Now and days, he sits in a bar, waits until a guy comes over, and hooks up. But that's it. All of them leave. But not Richie. The best part is that Richie didn't even hook up or ever kiss Eddie. He held his hand, and Richie's heart sped up.

Richie stayed.

Another week is marked off the month of December, meaning this Friday is the annual winter dance. And the day Eddie's going ask out Richie Tozier. Which is today.

In the morning, Eddie walks in with determination, but he's planned it for after lunch. First, he'll ask him to be his date to the dance. Yes, he's aware on how it's going to be so fucking cheesy, but he knows Richie will love it. Then, Eddie will actually take him out to eat or something. Well, he doesn't have it all planned out, but he's rehearsed the asking out part an uncountable of times in the mirror so he's fifty percent prepared.

Eddie makes his way to the gym, skipping the teacher's lounge for today. A few finale touches need to be put together before this evening's dance, and Eddie's there to help. While Eddie's wrapping a string of LED white lights around a stair rail, he hears heels clicking closer towards his way. Eddie recognizes that it's Myra once she stops in front of him.

"Do you need any help?" Myra asks. God, her voice just sounds too familiar, Eddie tries not to squirm.

"No, but, thank you. I don't need much." Eddie stays focused on the twirling of the string of lights.

"I really love your decorations, they're very pretty." Myra compliments. She's holding something, but Eddie doesn't pay attention to what she's fidgeting with—could be keys, he hears it.

"Thank you, Myra," Eddie finally takes a quick glance at her to respectfully smile in response.

"Are you coming to the dance?"

"Yeah, I have to. Look out duty," Eddie switches to the other rail, "But I'm sure it'll be fun. I'm hoping to ask someone to be my "look out" date." Eddie awkwardly smiles. Fuck. Eddie has said too much. Nah, fuck it. He's so thrilled, and he should allow himself to be vocal about it. Even if he's telling Myra, he doesn't care.

"Oh, really? Well...good luck with that!" She smiles, waving her fairwell, and walks back to her friend group. They all exit the gym, leaving Eddie and two other faculty members in the room.  
Fifteen minutes later, the bell rings. Everything for the dance is set. He's certain he's got unopened messages from Mike and Richie, but he has no time to open them now that he's speed walking over to his classroom. After unlocking the door for his kids, Eddie attempts to take a peek into Richie's classroom. Richie was caught looking back but quickly looked away, resuming jotting something down on his board.

Eddie pops his head in his own classroom, "Hey, take out your notes and study for today's test, okay? I'll be right back." Before walking across the hall, there's a quiet sound of shuffling from the kids, unzipping their backpacks.

He walks into Richie's room, his kids don't even shoot him a stare anymore.

"Sorry I wasn't able to meet up with you and Mike, I had to go help with the dance stuff. But everyone has been digging your snowflakes that I kind of regret giving you credit," Eddie let's out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah, don't worry," Richie keeps writing stuff down, only giving Eddie glimpses, "but I'm busy right now, I can't really talk. Can we talk later?" His eyes don't leave the board. His eyebrows are visibly furrowed, and that's a rare look on Richie. It's the stalest Eddie's heard Richie's voice.

"Oh. Okay. See you later." Eddie hears a low "mhm" out of Richie before he slowly walks out.

Eddie's fingers tap with eagerness, wanting it to be time for lunch. Testing occupying every period leaves him surrounded with external silence and internal chaos. Trying to distract himself with grading, an opened Excel document, or reading random articles, he still can't brush off Richie's tone from out his mind. His bouncing leg only led him in diminishing his patience and checked his messages. There has to be some sort of context regarding Richie's unusual mannerisms.

**7:34 A.M.**  
**that guy**

**that guy** : mr. eddio spaggeddio did you sleep through your alarm?

 **that guy** : i brought you one of those cereal yogurt bars that you've never tried and it's lucky charms you DO NOT want to miss this life changing opportunity

 **that guy** : eddie are you okay?

 **that guy** : you're probably busy or something

 **that guy** : don't worry i'll save the lucky charms yogurt bar for you :)

None of that answered anything. The only thing he got from the texts is that he wasn't mad at Eddie, at least not before the bell rang. Is Richie mad at him? Maybe. For what? For not responding? Or for not meeting up with them? That would be very unlike Richie, he's not a dick. He's very understanding and minor things like that wouldn't set him off. Eddie puts away his phone and waits until lunch. He'll see him then.

But he doesn't.

They usually walk to the teacher's lounge together, but his room is pitch black. When Eddie grips the doorknob to the teacher's lounge's door and pulls it open, the chair next to Mike is empty. Mike even proceeds to ask, "where's Richie?"

Eddie answers with a shrug of the shoulders as he slumps down on his seat. Eddie sighs, "I don't know. His room was dark and empty. I figured he'd be here," Eddie opens up his lunch bag, "but it makes sense because it seemed like I was the last person he wanted to talk to."

"What do you mean?" Mike's eyebrows furrow in question. Eddie continues to take out his tupperware containing fettuccini pasta.

"I went to go talk to him before the first final bell rang, but he told me he was busy and we can talk later. He looked serious and didn't even fully look at me."

There's a strange expression on Mike's face, kind of like he's mapping things together. His eyes are quickly darting the table and he's blinking more than usual within each second.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"No, it's just weird because, in the morning, he left the lounge like ten minutes earlier, told me he had stuff he needed to finish. I told him that it was okay, but I did notice his mood change. But that was after–" Mike stops. His eyes land on someone in the room, but transfer over to his phone too fast before Eddie can catch who he was looking at.

"Mike? After what?" Eddie's confused. He notices Mike texting away. He sees his phone light up.

**12:07 P.M.**  
**mike not ike**

**mike not ike** : Myra

 **mike not ike** : It was after Myra and all of them entered.

 **mike not ike** : Someone said "I can't believe Eddie's going to ask you out. How do you know?" and that obviously caught our attention and Myra responded with "He said he's going to ask someone out. Then he smiled at me and I knew."

 **mike not ike** : A few seconds after that, he told me he was going to go

 **eddie** : wait what the fuck???

 **eddie** : she thinks i'm asking HER out?????

 **eddie** : oh god this is a homosexual's nightmare

 **eddie** : i thought she knew i'm gay

 **mike not ike** : It's probably your horniness for cars that passed you as a het or at the very least carsexual

 **eddie** : thanks mike you bitch

 **eddie** : but why would that make richie walk out?

 **mike not ike** : Are you serious

 **eddie** : what ?

 **eddie** : stop staring at me!!!!

 **mike not ike** : Because he's so fucking gay for you man

 **eddie** : no way

 **mike not ike** : Sorry did I say carsexual I meant to say you're a Dumb Gay Carsexual

 **mike not ike** : May I provide you with a flashback montage?

 **eddie** : no

 **mike not ike** : Do you recall when Richie stayed sober so you weren't the only one sober

 **mike not ike** : Or maybe when he listened to all of Journey's albums just because you called him an "uncultured crouton" for never listening to their music

 **mike not ike** : How every week he brings you some new food you've never tried that he thinks you'll enjoy

 **mike not ike** : Oh and how can I forget That Night and after seeing your ceramic frog collection, he gifted you one later that week

 **eddie** : okay okay i get it mike

 **eddie** : i just

 **eddie** : what if he doesn't, you know

 **eddie** : like me

 **mike not ike** : He does.

 **mike not ike** : Trust me.

 **eddie** : i was going to ask him out after lunch

 **mike not ike** : You still can

 **mike not ike** : Maybe not after lunch but the rest of today is reserved for you. I believe in you, man. ❤️

🍎

Classes ended and Richie's classroom is engulfed with the color black again. Eddie was too late. He finally thinks about sending a text to Richie, but, proving Eddie's expectations, he doesn't answer. Eddie resorts to a phone call, but he's sent straight to voicemail.

At this point, Eddie would be getting pretty frustrated. Having to stick with his plans and all. He doesn't, though. That's solely because the day hasn't ended and he's going to see Richie at the dance anyways. Then, there, he can tell him.

Yeah, he's pretty bummed out how everything twisted. He never thought Myra would– actually, who is he kidding. His expectations were low, but Jesus fucking Christ. Right now, Eddie could've had that stupid bubbly feeling in his chest, anxious to go to a dumb high school dance with the guy he likes. He slumps onto his rolling chair.

Although, he feels in control of his life more than ever, he thinks, what's the point of feeling good about it when he always tends to fuck it up. Maybe, his mother had a point, he's too vulnerable. She'd keep him in control because Eddie couldn't do it. And she knew.

Eddie begins breathing in an unusual manner. He recognizes it. His hand curls into the familiar shape of an imaginary inhaler. It's been years, ever since before he got this job, when he's had one of these anxiety attacks. He knows what usually helps calm himself down, by imagining he has an inhaler. He begins to pick up his hand, shaking the imaginary inhaler. He can hear it. Frantically and thoughtlessly, he looks around the room for a second, and looks back at his hand. Eddie feels his furrowed eyebrows and shaky hand relax when he does a double take.  
He stares at his painting.

The one with the spear. It's hanging on his wall. He takes a deep breath. Control, he thinks. Eddie remembers the conversation he had with Richie, about parallel and alternative dimensions. No clue crosses his mind revolving what happened or could be happening in them, he's not even quite sure he believes in other life existing out there. But there's an ache in his torso whenever he thinks about it. The feeling sounds as if it would be painful, but that's not the case. A pint of the ache is pain, but it's easily replaced with the feeling of something growing. Something enthralling. It always makes Eddie fix his posture, especially at this very moment. His hand slowly curles up, closing around his palm, almost like he's clutching onto a spear.

He's come this far. He's not letting parts of him die when this is how far they've come. No one made him into who he is today, and it surely wasn't his mother. He's the best version of himself he's ever been, and that's what he's going to go do. Keep becoming better.

Eddie gets up from his chair with a curled up fist, ready to run the show.

🍎

The school's gym is filled with the rambling of children and some radio hit Eddie's never heard. God, these bleachers are fucking uncomfortable, how do the kids do it? His ass is going numb as he unsubtly keeps darting his eyes to the gym's doors, and Myra keeps staring at him. He's expecting her to approach him, but she never does. Time's going painfully slower because he stayed after school, since he already had his outfit in his storage closet. Also because he keeps checking it, and it's only 7:06 P.M., the dance began six minutes ago.

"I'm guessing I'm not the one you're looking for?" Mike questions from out of Eddie's sight. Eddie sits up, turning to look at Mike. He's holding two cups of fruit punch, handing one towards Eddie with a smile.

Eddie grabs the cup, "Where did you come from?" Eddie is genuinely confused, he never saw Mike enter.

"Through the back door. Parked at the back," Mike nods at the door before taking a sip of his fruit punch.

"What the fu– There's a back door?!" Eddie is shocked, making Mike laugh as he takes a seat next to him.

"And you were one out of the two I was looking for, by the way. I'm always looking for you." Eddie tells Mike, cupping his cup.

"Is this the part where we kiss?" Mike smiles.

"Fuck off," Eddie laughs, playfully shoving Mike with his arm.

Before they can initiate another conversation, Eddie sees a faculty member waving for him. She points at boxes, wanting help to display the snacks. Eddie pats Mike's knee, signaling that he needs to jet. As he's almost at the other end of the gym, he hears his voice, loud and clear. Eddie stops and turns his head towards it. He sees Richie sat by the entrance, handling the register and handing out tickets. Mostly everything he's saying is inaudible, all Eddie got from the conversation was something about Minecraft chickens. Anyways, he found him, but he can't go talk to him now, he's busy. So he proceeds to walk where he was going.

There's some relief knowing Richie was here, Eddie was cautious that he would call in sick or something. But, the fact Richie was given the task to maintain the register made Eddie impatient. Kids were still arriving by the second hour, and there was only one more hour left. While Eddie was busy helping out with different tasks, he kept his eye on Richie. By the third hour, there were no more kids arriving, and Richie was told he can stop.

Richie stands, stretches, and walks out the building. Eddie was refilling the punch bowl and looks at Mike, but Mike was already reaching for the gallon of punch. Mike nods, "go." His voice is loud enough to hear over the music.

Eddie smiles and thanks him before he rushes off.

The door clicks open with a harsh push. Eddie walks further outside, scanning the parking lot. Richie's car isn't there. Eddie's breathing heavily, after jogging out the gym. His shoulders slowly slump when he realizes he's gone. He's gone and his whole plan is entirely ruined. Eddie's aware he can ask him out and talk to him tomorrow, but this was supposed to be his day and he wasn't going to fuck it up. His breathing calms. Today's almost over and he has no control over that. He fucked it up. He fucked it u–

"FUCK!" Eddie yells to nothing, to no one, not even the sky. It was loud, but not loud enough to echo. Eddie just stands there, he feels small. Eyes are closed, posture is slumped, head is dropped facing the ground, and his hands are formed into a fist. Complex feelings flood him. Is he mad? Is he sad? Both? He can't distinguish it, but he doesn't feel good.

"Eddie?" A voice softly calls from behind him. Eddie's eyes shoot wide open. He turns and sees him. Richie is leaned against the building's brick wall, hidden in the corner.

This is the part where Eddie turns on his heels and marches over to where Richie is standing, kissing him passionately. But he figured out he feels fucking enraged. Eddie truns on his heels and marches over to Richie, with the addition of furrowed eyebrows.

"You fucking asshole! I couldn't sleep well because I was excited for today, and I'm so fucking tired right now. I enter the school, I'm fucking pumped as shit and then I told Myra I was going to ask someone out, and I was going to ask you out, but then she had to open her fucking mouth. Then you go all fucking AWOL on us when I was going to ask you out after lunch to this stupid dance like a fucking teenager, which sounds stupider when I say it out loud. But that didn't fucking work out, so I convince myself to ask you out during the dance, but you were busy–which is reasonable–but then that meant I had to wait to talk to you, and you didn't even approach me when you told me you were going to talk me later. You just fucking walked out and I came here to look for you and thought you were fucking gone, so now I'm fucking mad and I'm yelling at you for something that isn't your fault. But my day was a disaster, and, God, I'm so fucking tired!"

All that is heard is Eddie's heavy breathing. There's no muffled music playing from inside the building. It's quiet. Eddie keeps his eyes on Richie. Richie is reciprocating the eye contact. Winter causes their breathe to be visible. Richie looks a bit paler, his nose and cheeks obtain a pink tint. His hands are tucked inside his coat's pockets—the one he was wearing the first day they met. His curls slightly move along with the cold breeze. He's silent. Richie opens his mouth to say something, but immediately closes it when the music comes back on.  
Eddie moves his eyes away from Richie, figuring out if he's hearing the song he thinks it is. "Journey?" Eddie quietly whispers to himself.

"'Faithfully'," Richie says the title of the song, "I requested the kid DJing to play it. They seemed like a hipster. I was right."

Eddie let's out a breathy chuckle. He looks at Richie, and he laughs along. "Dude, I think you mean a fucking hippie. The kid played The Bee Gees. A song I didn't even fucking know."

Richie laughs, hard. That wheezy laugh of his, which always captivates Eddie. And it's very contagious, so they're both laughing hysterically at something that isn't even that funny. Once they're done, Eddie faces down. He listens to the song, kind of stalling to avoid looking at Richie. Richie prevents his need of further stalling by reaching over his hand in front of Eddie. His eyes slowly trail up to Richie's. No words escape his mouth, but Eddie slowly takes his hand.

"I'm sorry. I know you said it wasn't my fault, but I was being a dick and I shouldn't have been and I'm sorry." Richie's voice is sincere. He never dares to move his eyes away from Eddie's as he apologizes. "I just–" Well, for a second, Richie's eyes move to the ground but immediately make their way back to Eddie, "I like you. Like a lot. Like an embarrassing amount."

Eddie scoffs, more of chuckle. He would've rolled his eyes at that, but he can't take his eyes off of him. He couldn't risk missing out on seeing Richie's lips form around the words of his confession. Or, the way Richie's eyes hold timidness. For him. Because of him.

Richie continues, "I keep thinking about our conversation. About the dances and how you've never really had a proper school dance experience, so I thought, maybe we could–"

Eddie pulls his hand away, making Richie leave his sentence incomplete. "Um? Fuck you?" Eddie tells Richie.

Richie's expression is obviously perplexed. All he can reply with is, "Wha–"

"I'm the one supposed to be asking you for a stupid dance, asshole," Eddie explains.

"Why? Is this because I've done drag? Are you stereotyping?"

"Wait– What? No– I've done drag, too, dickwad– God, that's not the fucking point here, Rich–"

"You've done drag, and I'm just hearing about this?! Can I see pics?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, please! Eddie, I need to see those photos, if not I'll start melting like a witch."

"No." Eddie repeats himself.

"Oh, well. Guess I'm going to start melting. Oh, no! I'm melting!" Richie acts dramatic but isn't really doing anything at all. He's slowly squating a bit, and runs his fingers against his face to portray skin melting off. "I'm melting like a witch, Eddie. The only thing that can save me is a photo of you in drag. Oh, my, how ever am I going to be saved if Eddie doesn't–"

Eddie kisses him. His palms fit perfectly against the hollowness above his jaw. It takes two second for Richie to lean towards the kiss, and when he does, Eddie feels like he'll pass away if he ever stops kissing him. Richie holds his waist, pulling him closer. For a moment, silence is all that is heard. Once they completely fall into the kiss, Eddie remembers there's music playing. "Faithfully" by Journey is muffled, but the chorus doesn't fail to make Eddie's heart beat quicker.

Anxious. He thinks of the past, as this same song played during a school dance. Sadness colored his eyes, swaying along with his date. She was sweet, but that was the problem. Eddie couldn't break her heart. Throughout the dance, he played pretend, jokingly told himself he should settle around Hollywood and become an actor for how well he'd been at acting. However, swaying to this song is what cracked him. Misty eyed, he felt out of place. This isn't how it's supposed to go, is all he can tell himself. Eddie's imagined the significance this song would play in his future. Love is all he thought about listening to this song. Whether, someone like him, would ever know the pure blissful feeling of it. This song would be playing, and he'd be entranced with the boy of his dreams. He's imagined it millions of times, and he imagined another time while holding a girl he isn't fond of. At this point, his heart was already broken, and it was the beginning of allowing himself to heal. So, he walked out of that school gym before the song got to its first chorus.

Anxious. He thinks of the present. Richie's gentle, his fingers linger along Eddie's spine. Their eyes are closed, but he feels the warmth of Richie encompassing Eddie, so Eddie can picture the way Richie is smaller. Not in a self-deprecating way, rather in a more relieving way. His big, broad shoulders are hunched, almost relaxed. Eddie can feel it on his lips, as well. Delicate like a rose pedal, Richie's lips press on Eddie's. Again. And again. And again.This song is playing, and he can't quite say it's just as he imagined it. Not at all. In fact, it's so much fucking better.

A few more blissful seconds pass before Richie pulls away. Eddie furrows his eyebrows at Richie, and he's sure Richie can read his mind going "hey, what the fuck" because then Richie responds.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, believe me I was having a fucking blast, but I don't want some of the kids walking outside to two old, cool, gay teachers making out and that being their twenty years reunion tale. Because I want this to be my reunion tale."

"Not if I trademark it first, fucker." Eddie flips him off, but it's only an act to avoid appearing gushy at what Richie said. God, twenty years. How will he keep up with his snarky cover-ups? Guess he'll have to find that out—he's hoping he'll have to try to keep it up for even longer.

Anxious. He thinks of the future, and it's Richie and him walking into Eddie's apartment.

He texted Mike if he could cover for him, make some excuse, and Mike replied within the next ten seconds with the cartwheel emoji.

He flips the light switch on. Eddie's keys stay in the doorknob, he doesn't even bother taking them off after shutting the front door behind them. Instead, their hands rush towards each other. Their steps are slow as they make out, but they eventually reach Eddie's couch. Richie splays himself on his back, while Eddie positions himself on top of him without ever pulling their lips away from the other.

Eddie's lips urge to leave kisses on all of Richie's face and a couple on his neck. Richie chuckles a bit, and Eddie finishes leaving one last kiss on his jaw. Eddie's eyes fall on a smiley Richie and, for a moment, they just warmly stare at one another. His hands are holding the sides of Richie's face as he does so.

"God, you're gorgeous." Eddie huffs out, sounding like a thought out loud. He can't deny it wasn't, he really didn't mean to say it. But he didn't exactly not want to say it, either. He's really happy he said it, though, because Richie gleamed as pretty as he does.

Richie attempts to shake off the compliment, "What? No– Dude, have you seen yourself? You're fucking hot and everything! I'm going to be the guy people see with you and say "Really? That guy?"."

"No. You're fucking pretty, Tozier, you hear me?" Eddie has a more secure grip on Richie's face, to get him to look at him. "Plus, no one's going to say that, not on my fucking watch. Fuck those people. Anyone says anything mean about you, I'll charlie horse them."

Richie doesn't respond, he continues to stare with a smile.

"What?" Eddie questions. But Richie doesn't answer. Eddie asks again, but still doesn't respond. Eddie rolls his eyes and covers Richie's eyes with one of his hands.

"Hey! Eds, that's not fair come on! Let me see. Let me see your pretty face!" Richie tries to swat Eddie's hand off his eyes, while Eddie is dying of laughter seeing him struggle. Finally, Eddie gives up and instead kisses him. It distracts them again, and they fall back into another make out session.

🍎

On Monday morning, Eddie leans back on his rolling chair. He waits without any patience running through his veins, looking over at Richie's room. He's waiting for him to look on his desk.

A few minutes pass, Richie was doing his morning writing on the board routine, before he properly looks on his desk. He had almost missed it, but he caught it after all.

Eddie had quickly snuck into his room to place a pack of scented stickers on his desk, along with a post-it note that says: Mr. Tozier, you should tile the inside of your car with these dumb scented stickers. No more air fresheners. –E.K.

He hears Richie laugh. Richie looks over to him from across the hallway. Eddie can feel himself embarrassingly gleaming. Jesus, they've been dating for almost three days, and they're already going to expose their relationship to the whole school if they keep communicating from across the hall. But, Eddie always seems to get saved by the bell, so he gets up to close his door shut. He catches Richie doing the same, except he pokes his head through the small space left between the door. He blows an imaginary kiss to Eddie. And Eddie takes it, pretending that he eats it. He then rates it with a thumbs up, and Richie laughs again, but Eddie makes sure to blow one of his own kisses to Richie before they depart. So, then, Richie jokingly eats it as well.

Eddie shuts his door. Immediately, his eyes nonchalantly land on the painting. He gets it, is what crosses his mind. He gets that he wasn't supposed to completely know before. Not until he arrived to this part. This is where he's supposed to be. He's alive. He knows it took a while for him to truly be alive, but he's come a long way. Man, and is he going to enjoy the rest of this long ride.

Eddie walks to his desk, greeting his kids. He looks one final time through the door's slim window, spotting Richie shoot a smile at him, and Eddie shoots one back.

To love and to be loved, that's what he was born for, Eddie realized. He'll love, and love, and love. And he'll be loved, and be loved, and be loved. Forever and ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i actually completed this


End file.
